The Weaping Willow

In connection to the world around us.

Strangers pass, my hollow being, laying on the grass. This weaping tree dangles to my big bare feet, songs whispered, yellow sweet. Spiraled leaves, arms that wave, dance and sing. In accord, he and me. I surrender to the rythmic katydid candence, a tune of orchestral beat.

 

Grayed, he slowly paces by. He seems at peace, maintaining this same harmonic theme, he and I. His days in this park, he reminisced. Wife long ago, by his side. Her glistening brown hair caressed in the summer breeze. Skin supple and delicious, like nector is sweet to bees. Her beautiful blue eyes, able to light the midnight sky. He remembers, this ancient gray man, her laugh.Warm with orange, green and gold. What a life it was, he says to me. But here we sit under the weaping willow tree, you and me.

 

Barrelling near comes a joyous cry, a child runs chasing a monarch butterfly. Effortlessly swinging on the airy current with purposeful taunt. Flying in circles and side to side. Landing just above his reach on the spiraled arm that brushes my feet. Falling to the ground, he waits like a stalker on its pray, only carefree with intent only to play. Her long blonde hair tied loosely in a knot. She stops and stares at the black and orange speckled spot.

 

Here we gather under the tree in perfect unison and green tranquility, with all things precisely as they were meant to be. It's times like these, the willow whispered, I hear no crys, just a feeling of complete sublime.

Author's Note

Please provide feedback. I am striving to improve upon my writting and I need your comments. It's greatly appreciated.

Reviews

[zainul]

Sounds more poetic than a story.
Amazing work.