Knee deep in mud, she trudged on with unsure steps. The tree blotted out the sun like it didn’t belong here, and the willows grew tall and bold as if staking a claim. She tried to ignore the sudden childlike fear that they were waiting to pull her down into the marsh below.
Under the willow tree lies a widow,
Smiling and counting the stars in the sky.
They say stars can lead one to their loved ones.
They say stars can show the way.
“Say when, my dear, and I’ll come to you.”
The bend, the break. I stretch like supple new growth. I stretch towards the water’s edge, I brush it with my fingers. It ripples like wind through satin. I stretch out billowy with the breeze, I let the wind catch me with its fingertips.
I sat on the branch of the willow tree that hung over the lake a mile away from my house. I still couldn’t believe it. My shoulders shook as I leaned against the strong trunk.
Mom was gone.
Dead.
Underneath the mango tree. 20 yards east of the willow tree. We found shade. Shade that would bear fruit for us. we love the bugs that share this succulent fruit with us. we marvel as we gaze at the sun shining off of the spider webbing.
“Don’t you think they look kind of sad?”
“Sad?”
“You know. All droopy. The way they hang.”
“Nah. Ever seen ’em when the wind picks up? They dance.”
“You’re just saying that ’cause you’re a dancer.”
“I’m also happier than you.”
The long leaves of the willow provided enough privacy that, when he slipped his hand under her shirt and over her ribs, the blush she felt was of excitement not embarassment. She inhaled sharply as he chuckled into her neck. “How long have you been waiting for that?
She couldn’t speak. Words had left her completely.
The willow had an odd color to its leaves. Sandy decided that it was probably wise to give that tree a wide birth. So focused was she in doing this, however, that she almost ran smack into the giant.
The willow, the tree. Pocohontas. The willow is probably the saddest tree in existence, maybe the only tree we personify with human emotion. It so accurately represents the the mopey sadness we’ve all felt at some point. But it’s a plant. That is all.
I was sitting under the willow tree thinking of the beautiful creation that God had made for us to enjoy when Casey stuck her head out of the hollow tree trunk.
“The air smells so good out here, doesn’t it?”
“Yip.” I closed my eyes and imagined God creating the trees and bushes on the 3rd day of Creation.
just weep, like we all do. It reminds me of my childhood, just relaxing in the cool breeze of the weeping willow tree. The bright vibrant green strands hang down inviting small pieces of light to follow in through them
The huge willow stood before me. The leaves hanging low enough to skim the tall grass. My breathing raced as my shaking hand reach up to push the leaves aside. Something is drawing me here and I can’t ignore it any longer. My fingers go in between the strands and with a slow fluid movement, I push it to the side. I put one foot in front of the other and walked towards the ancient tree trunk.
The breeze was cool.
The stars were bright.
His hand was warm.
But it was a distant memory.
And as I sat under the willow tree, staring at his grave.
I remembered.
And I relished and relived that memory, the only thing I had left to hold on to.
The willow tree was huge; huger than he remembered it to me.
When Jacob was a little boy, his grandfather’s favorite tree on the whole land was the weeping willow, tucked away deep in the forest and away from prying eyes. Now, nearly fifty years later, long after his late grandfather had met the earth again, Jacob stood underneath the tree with his own grandson. Jacob wondered what the boy thought of it.
“Hey there,” Her voice is low and husky on this rare occasion. So rare is it to hear her talk this way, it’s only been logged once before, but right now she smiles mischievously, “shoulders back, little willow, you’ve got this.”
It was under the willow tree which she sat and watched everyday. Between class, during lunch everyday like clockwork at three-fifteen. She’d sit and watch the scene before her. The ducks in the pond. The butterflies, flowers, and lovey-dove couples. The children, and older grandparents. And everyday she smiled as she left, but never partook in the activities of others.
Willow trees remind me of death and harry potter. Death, because of that one country song about Whiskey, and Harry Potter because of the whomping willow. I also think it’s a pretty name for a person.
Up high in the trees sits a young girl. she brushes her hair as she sits in the willow tree. when her mother calls, she ignores her. she is in her element. she is free. she wishes to stay up there forever and ever. the willow is her safe place.
Down by the willow tree was where it began. It stood there like an omen know. A reminder that dark times have come before, and will again. We are not safe. We will nevr be safe. Not while he’s alive, at least.
The dark willow creeperd closer till bam we died
I’m not alive no more I’m a ghost right here talking to everyone of you I creep up onto u every day
Waiting to get you alone so u can come with us.
I sat under the willow tree every day at school people would ask me why I sat there but I ignored them and closed my eyes one day I opened up my eyes and saw a boy sitting next to me with dark hair and hazel eyes we didn’t speak much but when we did it was deep conversation that had meaning It wasn’t about what colours we liked or who we liked it was about ourselves real raw things I felt like I could share everything with him. I went online one day and saw pictures and videos of me with all my secrets how could he do this I thought we were friends I went down to the willow then I noticed it cameras and recorders hung up in the branches I guess when you have true friendship or thought you did time seems to fly my only friend now is the willow.
I hated it when those bruises faded. They were all I had of his to keep for myself until he came again. All those weeks, those nights, I was paralysed with hunger. Underneath the willow, my head pressed hard against its trunk, he cracked the brittle shell around my soul. And that was our secret. I hid my true feelings from my husband, my son and from all the friends we shared. All that willpower to contain a new universe of feeling which I wanted to sing into the morning sun, and cry into the night sky.
The willow tree out of my wind reminds me of years gone by. It was the place where I played hide and seek with my friends. It was my quiet place to read. I will never forget the big willow outside . my window.
Dancing. Flying like a bird, leaping like a jaguar, bending like a willow. Graceful as a swan, courageous as a lion. She danced to the light of the moon.
Beneath the willow tree outside my bedroom window, there was a girl who slept against its withered trunk for at least an hour every day. This was normally around the time I finished school, when I walked home with my backpack slung over one shoulder, one of my ears occupied by the stinging musical sensations of Russian Circles’ Station album. I didn’t know her name; she wasn’t a student I knew, and I wasn’t even aware of how old she was. Old enough. She slept soundly, peacefully. Nothing disturbed her, and by the time I went upstairs, finished my math homework, and looked outside, she was gone before the sun even had a chance to set.
the willow tree next door is a sad sight. it needs a deep trimming and lots of water. it might have been a great tree at one time but it is limp, listless and darn near lifeless. they are bad parents to this tree.
I wonder why the willow weeps? For the destruction of her fellow flora? For the devastation of the environment she is forced to bear witness to? I find that I have her accompanying me as I weep.
Running faster than she thought possible, Hailey dove into the water. Forcing her body to swim against the intense waves, her entire focus was on getting to the old willow tree. It would protect her and no one would find her.
Pushing herself roughly up onto the bank, she rolled over on her back and breathed heavily. This didn’t make any sense. Trevor wouldn’t hurt her. There had to be some mistake. Yet, she had seen the hatred in his eyes as he ordered for the guards to capture her.
Her lover didn’t love her. Now, she was a wanted woman and from her own kingdom! Thankfully, she didn’t show him the sacred tree.
Knee deep in mud, she trudged on with unsure steps. The tree blotted out the sun like it didn’t belong here, and the willows grew tall and bold as if staking a claim. She tried to ignore the sudden childlike fear that they were waiting to pull her down into the marsh below.
She was rough and beautiful and everything in between.
She was pure, she was yellow, she was brown.
She was green.
Under the willow tree lies a widow,
Smiling and counting the stars in the sky.
They say stars can lead one to their loved ones.
They say stars can show the way.
“Say when, my dear, and I’ll come to you.”
The bend, the break. I stretch like supple new growth. I stretch towards the water’s edge, I brush it with my fingers. It ripples like wind through satin. I stretch out billowy with the breeze, I let the wind catch me with its fingertips.
I sat on the branch of the willow tree that hung over the lake a mile away from my house. I still couldn’t believe it. My shoulders shook as I leaned against the strong trunk.
Mom was gone.
Dead.
Underneath the mango tree. 20 yards east of the willow tree. We found shade. Shade that would bear fruit for us. we love the bugs that share this succulent fruit with us. we marvel as we gaze at the sun shining off of the spider webbing.
“Don’t you think they look kind of sad?”
“Sad?”
“You know. All droopy. The way they hang.”
“Nah. Ever seen ’em when the wind picks up? They dance.”
“You’re just saying that ’cause you’re a dancer.”
“I’m also happier than you.”
The long leaves of the willow provided enough privacy that, when he slipped his hand under her shirt and over her ribs, the blush she felt was of excitement not embarassment. She inhaled sharply as he chuckled into her neck. “How long have you been waiting for that?
She couldn’t speak. Words had left her completely.
The willow had an odd color to its leaves. Sandy decided that it was probably wise to give that tree a wide birth. So focused was she in doing this, however, that she almost ran smack into the giant.
tree, long branches huge billowy
She had a beautiful collie named Willow and she missed her very much. Her fur was black , white , golden brown and silky.
The willow, the tree. Pocohontas. The willow is probably the saddest tree in existence, maybe the only tree we personify with human emotion. It so accurately represents the the mopey sadness we’ve all felt at some point. But it’s a plant. That is all.
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the willow still stands at the edge of the forest. it’s grace is tinged by melancholy.
I was sitting under the willow tree thinking of the beautiful creation that God had made for us to enjoy when Casey stuck her head out of the hollow tree trunk.
“The air smells so good out here, doesn’t it?”
“Yip.” I closed my eyes and imagined God creating the trees and bushes on the 3rd day of Creation.
just weep, like we all do. It reminds me of my childhood, just relaxing in the cool breeze of the weeping willow tree. The bright vibrant green strands hang down inviting small pieces of light to follow in through them
i will owe you my life for a reasons undefined yet,in the fields of lush green synotes
The huge willow stood before me. The leaves hanging low enough to skim the tall grass. My breathing raced as my shaking hand reach up to push the leaves aside. Something is drawing me here and I can’t ignore it any longer. My fingers go in between the strands and with a slow fluid movement, I push it to the side. I put one foot in front of the other and walked towards the ancient tree trunk.
A willow tree. Its has a melancholy look and feel of it. The way the leaves fall down make it mysterious. Is something hiding in it?
The breeze was cool.
The stars were bright.
His hand was warm.
But it was a distant memory.
And as I sat under the willow tree, staring at his grave.
I remembered.
And I relished and relived that memory, the only thing I had left to hold on to.
I sit across from him, the soft breeze of the willow tree embracing us, pausing the time.
The willow tree was huge; huger than he remembered it to me.
When Jacob was a little boy, his grandfather’s favorite tree on the whole land was the weeping willow, tucked away deep in the forest and away from prying eyes. Now, nearly fifty years later, long after his late grandfather had met the earth again, Jacob stood underneath the tree with his own grandson. Jacob wondered what the boy thought of it.
The biggest tree ever.
Everyone looked at it with wide eyes, so amazed.
But that was it.
No one took time to examine it.
“Hey there,” Her voice is low and husky on this rare occasion. So rare is it to hear her talk this way, it’s only been logged once before, but right now she smiles mischievously, “shoulders back, little willow, you’ve got this.”
It was under the willow tree which she sat and watched everyday. Between class, during lunch everyday like clockwork at three-fifteen. She’d sit and watch the scene before her. The ducks in the pond. The butterflies, flowers, and lovey-dove couples. The children, and older grandparents. And everyday she smiled as she left, but never partook in the activities of others.
Willow trees remind me of death and harry potter. Death, because of that one country song about Whiskey, and Harry Potter because of the whomping willow. I also think it’s a pretty name for a person.
wow
Up high in the trees sits a young girl. she brushes her hair as she sits in the willow tree. when her mother calls, she ignores her. she is in her element. she is free. she wishes to stay up there forever and ever. the willow is her safe place.
Down by the willow tree was where it began. It stood there like an omen know. A reminder that dark times have come before, and will again. We are not safe. We will nevr be safe. Not while he’s alive, at least.
The dark willow creeperd closer till bam we died
I’m not alive no more I’m a ghost right here talking to everyone of you I creep up onto u every day
Waiting to get you alone so u can come with us.
I sat under the willow tree every day at school people would ask me why I sat there but I ignored them and closed my eyes one day I opened up my eyes and saw a boy sitting next to me with dark hair and hazel eyes we didn’t speak much but when we did it was deep conversation that had meaning It wasn’t about what colours we liked or who we liked it was about ourselves real raw things I felt like I could share everything with him. I went online one day and saw pictures and videos of me with all my secrets how could he do this I thought we were friends I went down to the willow then I noticed it cameras and recorders hung up in the branches I guess when you have true friendship or thought you did time seems to fly my only friend now is the willow.
I hated it when those bruises faded. They were all I had of his to keep for myself until he came again. All those weeks, those nights, I was paralysed with hunger. Underneath the willow, my head pressed hard against its trunk, he cracked the brittle shell around my soul. And that was our secret. I hid my true feelings from my husband, my son and from all the friends we shared. All that willpower to contain a new universe of feeling which I wanted to sing into the morning sun, and cry into the night sky.
The willow tree out of my wind reminds me of years gone by. It was the place where I played hide and seek with my friends. It was my quiet place to read. I will never forget the big willow outside . my window.
Stop by the willow tree my friend.
It shall protect you from the storm.
But don’t take it for granted,
for every great thing must one day fall.
Dancing. Flying like a bird, leaping like a jaguar, bending like a willow. Graceful as a swan, courageous as a lion. She danced to the light of the moon.
I got nothing.
Beneath the willow tree outside my bedroom window, there was a girl who slept against its withered trunk for at least an hour every day. This was normally around the time I finished school, when I walked home with my backpack slung over one shoulder, one of my ears occupied by the stinging musical sensations of Russian Circles’ Station album. I didn’t know her name; she wasn’t a student I knew, and I wasn’t even aware of how old she was. Old enough. She slept soundly, peacefully. Nothing disturbed her, and by the time I went upstairs, finished my math homework, and looked outside, she was gone before the sun even had a chance to set.
the willow tree next door is a sad sight. it needs a deep trimming and lots of water. it might have been a great tree at one time but it is limp, listless and darn near lifeless. they are bad parents to this tree.
I wonder why the willow weeps? For the destruction of her fellow flora? For the devastation of the environment she is forced to bear witness to? I find that I have her accompanying me as I weep.
Running faster than she thought possible, Hailey dove into the water. Forcing her body to swim against the intense waves, her entire focus was on getting to the old willow tree. It would protect her and no one would find her.
Pushing herself roughly up onto the bank, she rolled over on her back and breathed heavily. This didn’t make any sense. Trevor wouldn’t hurt her. There had to be some mistake. Yet, she had seen the hatred in his eyes as he ordered for the guards to capture her.
Her lover didn’t love her. Now, she was a wanted woman and from her own kingdom! Thankfully, she didn’t show him the sacred tree.