The Willow Tree

As a child, there is always that "magical place" you can go. It is a safe haven. A place where your imagination can run free, where you can be anyone you want to be. My place as a child was the willow tree in my backyard.

I grew up in small town in Illinois. We had a little yellow house on an acre yard. That yard was a child's dream. So many places to run, things to do, adventures to make. Out of all of the places, there was on that was my favorite. It was in the back corner of our yard, right next to the corn field that it backed up to. In that corner, there was a beautiful, ancient, magical willow tree.

I would go back there every chance that I got. I would walk up to the tree and open up large gates of leaves into my magical place. As you walked in, you were engulfed with green leaves, sparkling gold as the sun shone through them. I would lay on the smooth grass underneath and look up towards the heaves through the leaves. It gave the sky and life a whole new perspective. I would fantasize I was somewhere different, as a princess in my own hidden land. I would pretend I was a beautiful bride waiting for my prince charming to come save me from the evil monster. Then we would get married under the leaves of the willow tree.

No one went under the tree with me. It was mine, all mine.

I have no pictures of that beautiful tree. I went back to visit that house a few years ago, and that tree is no longer there. When I buy a house eventually, I would love to have a weeping willow tree in the yard. Alas though, I no longer have such a vivid imagination. I lost that as I got older and also lost my innocence. I have tried to hard to regain that imagination. Nothing I do can bring it back.

I wish I still had that weeping willow.

Here is that house I grew up in. Sadly, the willow is no longer.