Green waves move back and forth lazily in Hangzhou, like a young lady’s hair in the wind. The willow is such a symbol, beautiful and carefree, gone with the wind.
there was a willow tree in a field once. I wasn’t there, but I heard about it. I don’t know if it’s still there in that field or if lightning has since struck it down. I imagine it in black and white, starkly contrasted, romantic almost, like a movie from the 40s.
A willow tree breezes in the wind , only to fall down in a lightning storm. The willow falls down, down, crashing into a house, billowing willow into the home of a small family.
Willow trees are the most elegant trees on the planet. Willow Smith has one of the catchiest songs out at the moment. When I think of willow, I think of an old woman, but a wise old woman. Like in Pocahantis. Grandmother willow. That’s all I know of.
a tree, a show, a word. a nice word, it lacks hard consonants. It brings to mind the word that it’s usually paired with, weeping. is the willow sad, or like the old, is it just hunched from the many happy years it has lived?
There was a willow in the backyard of her childhood home. Its branches drew circles on the dewy windows of her purple bedroom when the wind blew in the morning. The branches, they screeched and scratched during storms and sang in the summer sun when a cool breeze brushed along the bark that she carved her initials into, paired with a certain someone’s once she rid herself of her dreams of being a ballerina and an astronaut (“that’s what everyone wants to be,” her older brother of four wide years told her) and began keeping a lipstick in her back pocket.
“It’s hard to move on,” she thinks, twisting her fingers into knots. “It’s hard to forget whatever it is they tell you.”
a willow tree… flows through the air like a lost feather waiting to land. the branches so long and graceful in the air. it rocks back and forth every time the air needs a hug from the willow tree.
Underneath the willow tree there were 3 artifacts, the three of them designed to rescue humanity from their perilious destiny, to save the wordl from everything that once plagued it.
They consisted of a pen, a blank page, and a piece of gold.
a massive tree, something beautiful, something old and wise.
the name of an old woman with long grey hair tied in a bun, sitting on a rocking chair, knitting.
a wonderful black and white cat.
Sitting under an old willow I begin to ponder all the mysteries of the world, then i realize that I’m late for my monotonous job and just like that I’m back into the world we are all forced to be a part of.
The leaves of the willow tree float freely through the air unencumbered by the winds that seem to thwart other plant life that appear intoxicated by the weight they carry and the adrenalin of the rise and fall that the elements place on them, traveling at a speed they wished they wished they had a choice they could have declined.
this means nothing to me…. not that it means nothing it means empty and hollow and nothing at all. means pure peace and silence in the most perfect way. in the most beautiful way.
wilow was a character in the television programe buffy the vampire slayer. the programe was based on a terrible old film, whereas the tv series was very popular, esspecially in the uk. its kind of part of my child hood, although i dont like to admit it because looking at it now, makes me ashamed !
Willow, birch, larch, oak…in the ancient mythologies these woods all had their properties, their attributions. Each represented a principle of the macrocosm and represented one of the ways a shaman might make contact with it.
Primitive maybe, but to me these Hermetic ideas are beautiful.
the willow tree i want to have a willow tree in my backyard. i want to be someone who names their child willow and everyone says how suiting it is that my daughter is willow. willow will do great things and she will amaze me everyday with her carefree spirit and ability to make others around her smile. willow will dance and pick flowers and give me happiness every time i see her.
There i sat beneath a willow tree, pondering the meaning of life. Whilst a giant came out from the pond nearby. It was the Lockness monster, defying all odds. Not only by coming out of a pond larger than he, but talking to me reassuring his very existence.
willows remind me of my boyfriend, who always wanted to have one in his garden. they convey a beautiful sort of melancholy or even sadness. also, pocahontas’ grandmother is one. basically, i want one.
willow was a wanting woman, who wept for the waking and dreamed for the dying. greens and browns joined to become her, and she was all of them at once. williow was a wanting woman, who dreamed of the truth. and she wept for the ways of the world. she cried for the criers, and the leftbehind. willow was a wanting woman.
The old willow tree was centrally located by the man-made pond at my grandparent’s cottage. As a young child, I used to swing on the delicate branches of the willow. Usually I only got a few swings or so before my mother or father told me that I was hurting the tree.
i always loved willow trees. they seemed like a living coccoon when you sat under them. like quiet protection. but then people started referring to them as sad, and ever since i no longer have my simple joy about them.
a tree.. one in my grandmothers backyard.. big and shady.. i would drink fresca under it.. it was up against the neighbors yard.. the blundells.. they had an above ground pool in the 70’s we all hung out int.. the willow dropped leaves in it.. the older daughter i had a crush on.. she was about 18 and I was 10..
She sat underneath the tree bending willow branches to form a basket. It was the basket she would put all her mementos in, all her memories of him, of them together, and then she would burn it. She wanted no memory of him diluting her future, her relationship success. She would be free of him. She would have no tainting, polluting of her possible future happiness, her life ahead.
a beautiful word that flows of the toung nicely .. reminds me pochahanous and her mother who was a willow tree …and will smiths daughter willon i wonder if she goes by bill ..because if you are guy named william u u
I had a willow tree when I was a child, her name was jungle and she was my escape, I’d climb up in her branches and be on top of the world, but still hidden away enough to feel safe. My weeping willow never cried in front of me.
A tree by the road. the road that doesn’t lead anywhere. the road to nothing ness. the road to the desert. the road we need to pass, because we hope to find the other side. the side beyond the desert and the nothingness. the real happiness of achieving it.
the willow sways in the hot summer breeze while we lean closer to one another. sitting by the side of the lake, our toes dangling in the water. as he looks into my eyes i can only dream of what our future holds
Willow is a tree a large charismatic tree often seen by rivers. It is also the name of the witch on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So I always think of broomsticks when i see one!
Pillow. Kopfkissen, oder? Da fließen die Tränen rein, wenn der oder die Liebste gegangen ist, ohne ein Wort oder mit vielen Worten und ohne Koffer, die Dinge, die an diesen Menschen erinnern, sind immer noch da, umgeben dich, und du liebst sie und willst sie gleichzeitig aus dem Fenster schmeißen, in den reißenden Fluss.
My dream house is on the water. It has a wrap around porch made of wood painted stark white. The backyard extends a half an acre, with trees of different kinds lining the sides. The yard ends in a small hill where there is a lone willow tree. The willow tree is large and casts shadows over the grassy ground beneath it.
Willows, sweeping weeping, their limbs touching the floor. They looked like old aunts, reaching for children too terrified to come near. They reminded him of things he’d left behind, little lives, little lies, left lingering in the lost yesterdays he’d put behind him.
At the end of the day, however, it was their sad, sorrowful branches he settled beneath.
There was this willow tree in front of this little wooden house that no one lives in. Sometimes, I dreamed of living there. I would have that little sad tree all to myself. It would complete me. I’ve had this thought for years. But a month ago, a new family moved in. They cut the tree down and renovated the house. What could I do? I just had to move on and dream of that willow tree and that little wooden house.
I had my picture taken at a willow tree at camden market in London. It was beautiful and all my friends though i was stupid because i wanted a picture next to it, but i couldn’t miss out on such a beautiful part of nature. there is also a willow tree down by grandmothers house, we used toplay there when we were kids, me and my brothers. We loved it and we used to pretend we lived out there, on the grass under the willow tree. We would sit there for hours, watching the traffic go by. It was beautiful, and I wish i could remember other beautiful moments like this….but this one seems to stick out.
The willow tree out side my window always looks so alone. It sits in the center of my yard, feet away from everything else. It’s kinda an example of me. Sad right? well i guess all things have a reason for being there, or no reason at all.
the wind in the willows —-a book i read long ago—-willow trees are so graceful and relaxing—the touch the ground with their fingertips and always are smiling lovely
Green waves move back and forth lazily in Hangzhou, like a young lady’s hair in the wind. The willow is such a symbol, beautiful and carefree, gone with the wind.
there was a willow tree in a field once. I wasn’t there, but I heard about it. I don’t know if it’s still there in that field or if lightning has since struck it down. I imagine it in black and white, starkly contrasted, romantic almost, like a movie from the 40s.
A willow tree breezes in the wind , only to fall down in a lightning storm. The willow falls down, down, crashing into a house, billowing willow into the home of a small family.
Willow trees are the most elegant trees on the planet. Willow Smith has one of the catchiest songs out at the moment. When I think of willow, I think of an old woman, but a wise old woman. Like in Pocahantis. Grandmother willow. That’s all I know of.
a tree, a show, a word. a nice word, it lacks hard consonants. It brings to mind the word that it’s usually paired with, weeping. is the willow sad, or like the old, is it just hunched from the many happy years it has lived?
There was a willow in the backyard of her childhood home. Its branches drew circles on the dewy windows of her purple bedroom when the wind blew in the morning. The branches, they screeched and scratched during storms and sang in the summer sun when a cool breeze brushed along the bark that she carved her initials into, paired with a certain someone’s once she rid herself of her dreams of being a ballerina and an astronaut (“that’s what everyone wants to be,” her older brother of four wide years told her) and began keeping a lipstick in her back pocket.
“It’s hard to move on,” she thinks, twisting her fingers into knots. “It’s hard to forget whatever it is they tell you.”
Who is they? the willow blows through the wind.
“Who am I?”
a willow tree… flows through the air like a lost feather waiting to land. the branches so long and graceful in the air. it rocks back and forth every time the air needs a hug from the willow tree.
Underneath the willow tree there were 3 artifacts, the three of them designed to rescue humanity from their perilious destiny, to save the wordl from everything that once plagued it.
They consisted of a pen, a blank page, and a piece of gold.
a massive tree, something beautiful, something old and wise.
the name of an old woman with long grey hair tied in a bun, sitting on a rocking chair, knitting.
a wonderful black and white cat.
Sitting under an old willow I begin to ponder all the mysteries of the world, then i realize that I’m late for my monotonous job and just like that I’m back into the world we are all forced to be a part of.
The leaves of the willow tree float freely through the air unencumbered by the winds that seem to thwart other plant life that appear intoxicated by the weight they carry and the adrenalin of the rise and fall that the elements place on them, traveling at a speed they wished they wished they had a choice they could have declined.
all i can think of is tree whipping its branches back and forth.
you know.
like WILLOW smith.
today is a writing fail for sure.
this means nothing to me…. not that it means nothing it means empty and hollow and nothing at all. means pure peace and silence in the most perfect way. in the most beautiful way.
wilow was a character in the television programe buffy the vampire slayer. the programe was based on a terrible old film, whereas the tv series was very popular, esspecially in the uk. its kind of part of my child hood, although i dont like to admit it because looking at it now, makes me ashamed !
Willow, birch, larch, oak…in the ancient mythologies these woods all had their properties, their attributions. Each represented a principle of the macrocosm and represented one of the ways a shaman might make contact with it.
Primitive maybe, but to me these Hermetic ideas are beautiful.
the willow tree i want to have a willow tree in my backyard. i want to be someone who names their child willow and everyone says how suiting it is that my daughter is willow. willow will do great things and she will amaze me everyday with her carefree spirit and ability to make others around her smile. willow will dance and pick flowers and give me happiness every time i see her.
There i sat beneath a willow tree, pondering the meaning of life. Whilst a giant came out from the pond nearby. It was the Lockness monster, defying all odds. Not only by coming out of a pond larger than he, but talking to me reassuring his very existence.
willows remind me of my boyfriend, who always wanted to have one in his garden. they convey a beautiful sort of melancholy or even sadness. also, pocahontas’ grandmother is one. basically, i want one.
willow was a wanting woman, who wept for the waking and dreamed for the dying. greens and browns joined to become her, and she was all of them at once. williow was a wanting woman, who dreamed of the truth. and she wept for the ways of the world. she cried for the criers, and the leftbehind. willow was a wanting woman.
The old willow tree was centrally located by the man-made pond at my grandparent’s cottage. As a young child, I used to swing on the delicate branches of the willow. Usually I only got a few swings or so before my mother or father told me that I was hurting the tree.
i always loved willow trees. they seemed like a living coccoon when you sat under them. like quiet protection. but then people started referring to them as sad, and ever since i no longer have my simple joy about them.
A poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all the green willow,
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow.
Her boards of Othello, cups of salted, scalding tea,
Sing willow, willow, willow, one time three.
a tree.. one in my grandmothers backyard.. big and shady.. i would drink fresca under it.. it was up against the neighbors yard.. the blundells.. they had an above ground pool in the 70’s we all hung out int.. the willow dropped leaves in it.. the older daughter i had a crush on.. she was about 18 and I was 10..
She sat underneath the tree bending willow branches to form a basket. It was the basket she would put all her mementos in, all her memories of him, of them together, and then she would burn it. She wanted no memory of him diluting her future, her relationship success. She would be free of him. She would have no tainting, polluting of her possible future happiness, her life ahead.
a beautiful word that flows of the toung nicely .. reminds me pochahanous and her mother who was a willow tree …and will smiths daughter willon i wonder if she goes by bill ..because if you are guy named william u u
I had a willow tree when I was a child, her name was jungle and she was my escape, I’d climb up in her branches and be on top of the world, but still hidden away enough to feel safe. My weeping willow never cried in front of me.
A tree by the road. the road that doesn’t lead anywhere. the road to nothing ness. the road to the desert. the road we need to pass, because we hope to find the other side. the side beyond the desert and the nothingness. the real happiness of achieving it.
the willow sways in the hot summer breeze while we lean closer to one another. sitting by the side of the lake, our toes dangling in the water. as he looks into my eyes i can only dream of what our future holds
Willow is a tree a large charismatic tree often seen by rivers. It is also the name of the witch on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So I always think of broomsticks when i see one!
Pillow. Kopfkissen, oder? Da fließen die Tränen rein, wenn der oder die Liebste gegangen ist, ohne ein Wort oder mit vielen Worten und ohne Koffer, die Dinge, die an diesen Menschen erinnern, sind immer noch da, umgeben dich, und du liebst sie und willst sie gleichzeitig aus dem Fenster schmeißen, in den reißenden Fluss.
soft like pillow. strange and still comfortable. pleasant sounds.
My dream house is on the water. It has a wrap around porch made of wood painted stark white. The backyard extends a half an acre, with trees of different kinds lining the sides. The yard ends in a small hill where there is a lone willow tree. The willow tree is large and casts shadows over the grassy ground beneath it.
the willow wilted as fall turned to winter.
its color left.
the flowers fell; the stem snapped.
it was a shame, really.
Willows, sweeping weeping, their limbs touching the floor. They looked like old aunts, reaching for children too terrified to come near. They reminded him of things he’d left behind, little lives, little lies, left lingering in the lost yesterdays he’d put behind him.
At the end of the day, however, it was their sad, sorrowful branches he settled beneath.
There was this willow tree in front of this little wooden house that no one lives in. Sometimes, I dreamed of living there. I would have that little sad tree all to myself. It would complete me. I’ve had this thought for years. But a month ago, a new family moved in. They cut the tree down and renovated the house. What could I do? I just had to move on and dream of that willow tree and that little wooden house.
A childhood movie that rhymes with brillo.
I had my picture taken at a willow tree at camden market in London. It was beautiful and all my friends though i was stupid because i wanted a picture next to it, but i couldn’t miss out on such a beautiful part of nature. there is also a willow tree down by grandmothers house, we used toplay there when we were kids, me and my brothers. We loved it and we used to pretend we lived out there, on the grass under the willow tree. We would sit there for hours, watching the traffic go by. It was beautiful, and I wish i could remember other beautiful moments like this….but this one seems to stick out.
The willow tree out side my window always looks so alone. It sits in the center of my yard, feet away from everything else. It’s kinda an example of me. Sad right? well i guess all things have a reason for being there, or no reason at all.
the wind in the willows —-a book i read long ago—-willow trees are so graceful and relaxing—the touch the ground with their fingertips and always are smiling lovely
nnnn