There used to be a willow tree
I would go there with my sister
It wasn't too far
Near our house passed the maple tree
and over a small fence
there was a sea of white rocks
Big white rocks that would glitter and sparkle in the sun
Passed the white rocks was the willow tree
it's branches old and arched to the ground.
Inside was a cool sanctuary
peaceful and still
A muse
for dreaming
Dreams would twirl around the branches as the leaves rubbed together in the breeze
singing songs like wind chimes
But occasionally that breeze would part the braches and reveal a pale face in the window
It belonged to Claire.
Claire's husband Tom had given the willow to her as a gift
but she was too sick to leave her room
Her sunken pale face would watch in envy
as my sister and I danced and dreamed underneath the arms of a gift she would never fully receive.
My sister broke a branch inside the tree one day
I took the blame because she was too scared
It was that day Tom banned us from ever coming to his willow tree again
Sometimes, my sister and I would still walk past the maple tree and climb the fence
but we'd stop once we reached the sea of white rocks
our bare feet would burn from the heat
and the suns rays would bounce straight from the glitter in the rocks to the iris of our eyes
We would long for the serenity
that Tom so selfishly kept bottled up
beneath the leaves and branches
of his willow tree.