My Willow
There stood the powerful willow. Its delicate leaves, drooping with sadness, facing its destiny, but still, dancing blissfully in the breeze. But even more appealing was that great hand sprouting from underneath, stiff white, while it struggled to knock over the still standing willow.
This tree had been my life, my soul. I had nestled up between tree and hand, it held me close, it tucked me away from the cold, but now in a week's time it would be chopped down, and I couldn’t do ANYTHING ABOUT IT. I was just a tiny cry, in a cruel, heartless world.
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