You Want Me To Write
You want me to write about willow trees
or maybe how the limbs bend, but do not break
as if I should compare myself to such graceful beauty
but I cannot...
The willow tree that I lovingly planted in our backyard,
a tiny sapling with tender, delicate leaves
sprouting along narrow yellow branches
is dead now
Too many harsh winters, followed by early springs
She grew so tall, shading our swing set throughout many summers.
Children climbed her enormous trunk,
and I would shout into the wind for them to be careful
"Please do not fall"
"Please do not break her branches"
Even then I knew she was fragile,
much weaker than she appeared
One late winter morning I awoke to an ice covered wonderland
the sun dancing off of her branches
I sat on the sofa, and as I gazed out the window,
I heard the painful cracking of her limbs
The weight of the ice,
too much for her to bear
I cried as I watched, knowing deep within me,
that she would not survive
Maybe I loved her too much
or not enough
You want me to write about willow trees...
Was this what you had in mind?
Angela Minard 2014©
Watercolor painting by David Minard