Willow Tree

Feel the breeze blow my clothing as I run across the field to my treasured hideaway.

Staring contest with the jump. I hear the light whistling noise as the wind brushes through the leaves that hang low. Close to the trunk, I smell freshly cut grass and a familiar scent of changing leaves.

Place one hand on the cold rough branch as I attempt to climb up to the spot. In one hand I hold my book, either to write in, or to read. I stuff it in my black plaid coat, and set the hand that was occupied, on a higher branch that's just as cold. I make my way up the tree, smells of fall surround me. Almost if I could taste the pumpkin pie thanksgiving will soon offer me.


I look around, all I see is flowing green and lanky, but graceful brown. Just hanging there. Climbing further I reach my spot. Cuddle up against the hard trunk but sit comfortably, my legs hanging from the branch. I stop and listen to the cars go past knowing they can't see me, I'm hidden away where the birds nest. I hear them they sing freely and gingerly as they flutter by again, I'm unnoticed.

My legs dangle like the branches themselves, leaves floating down it as if they're trying to touch the ground beneath them. I breathe, I feel the stress leave my body, and I am calm. I let my muscles relax enough to keep me stable, but I feel at peace. I take my book out of my warm jacket and start writing whatever comes to greet my mind. The wind is gone up here, but the leaves still dance. Flight of many greens and a peak of the blue sky.





The air is calm and warm, the breeze was cool but now is not present. Leaves protect me from the world outside. Yet I still hear the cars go by, and the birds chirp away. The odd cicada humming its high pitched song. All is good. I breathe.