My hometown is small, but very clean and comfortable. Well maintained Park is a favorite place of locals. Central Boulevard, wide and spacious, lined with chestnut trees, during may-June, rampaging lush greenery and flowering candles.
Under the window of my house grows old, spreading birch. She's much older than me because my beloved grandmother remembers this young birch, with thin graceful catkins on fragile and flexible branches. Now it towers above a five-storey building, majestic in its splendor and white harmony.
Winter birch is a crystal chandelier, chilly shivering, and sparkling frosty branches in the cold rays of the January sun. When snowfall falls asleep birch crown fully, then it becomes like a fairy Palace with twisted turrets and carved columns.
The arrival of spring abruptly changes, frozen in hibernation, birch, freeing her supple branches from the snow and Peeva their swollen buds. Together with polunovskij leaves appear yellow-green catkins, shivering in the gusts of March wind.
By summer, the birch tree is already putting forth its lush emerald strand braid and exciting flutters graceful sequins, carved leaves. On a hot afternoon is so nice to just sit in its salutary shade, resting his back in the cool, black-and-white trunk, and through the trembling leaves to look at the bottomless blue of the sky.
The colours of autumn pores long and carefully paint each round, birch leaf gold pattern, starting with openwork corners. By November on a white birch trunk already hangs a magnificent dome, frozen sparkling fountain flowing jets of foliage.
My favourite tree pleases me constantly, at any time of the year, always worrying heart waiting for a miracle.