heart of willow

We had a closer call here than we knew at the time.  Yesterday afternoon we had one of those brief and terrible storms, the kind that send your phone vibrating off the edge of the desk with three urgent weather service warnings in quick succession.  The sky went greenish, the windward wall of the house was plastered with fragments of shredded leaves — but then it was over, and other than one medium big tree branch coming down there didn’t seem to be any ill effects.  (The power never even blipped. ) Made sure the branch wasn’t on the neighbor’s garage, pulled it into our yard, did some basic cleanup, and since it was still raining, went back into the house to listen to the radio and poke at some writing.  It got dark before it stopped raining, so I never went out to look at the rest of the neighborhood …

This is the willow tree at the end of the block.  It stands alone in the middle of an open space that floods when it rains, so it has the “wet feet” that willows love, and it is as big and old and slightly strange as the willow tree in any storybook.IMG_20140921_194349 But it’s also a magnet for any storm that comes along.  I’ve seen it pounded half to twigs by high winds any number of times, and torn mostly in half by heavy snows as well, so I have at least some hopes that whoever owns it will “clean up and see if it makes it” one more time.  It is the nature of willows to have shallow roots and soft wood but a mighty will to live.

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