Underneath the Willow

Underneath the Willow ...

I stand, basking in the glorious day,

the wind lightly passing my cheeks.

Underneath the Willow ...

I remember the Willow of my childhood,

the one I had to leave behind when we moved.

I remember the Willow of my teens,

the one that was destroyed in the storm a few years ago

and never fully recovered after.

I remember these trees fondly,

for I have always loved Willows;

they have always brought me joy.

Underneath the Willow ...

I can see the sandy beach,

empty and vast, warm and inviting.

I can see the river, sparkling,

like the Fjords of Oslo.

I can see the mountains,

surrounding this tranquil haven.

Underneath the Willow ...

I imagine myself sitting,

notebook and pen at the ready,

writing until the sun disappears.

I imagine a version of myself,

not letting my anxiety think about

all the bugs lurking in the grass.

Underneath the Willow ...

I notice a bench, in loving memory

of a couple, Mr. and Mrs. A --

"Always remembered with a smile".

I think this is the perfect spot,

for my writing

and to gaze upon the Willow.