pillow on the grass. Summer night taking a class. Calm winds deadly sins. The trees weep and bleed. Imagine death through life, and birth through murder. Will broken, strength sapped, sleeping rest.
Ryan
It was almost nightfall as I sat under the willow tree with my wife. She gazed at the sunset and all I could think about was how beautiful she looked at the sun shined off her face with a tint of red and orange.
The willow grew skyward at a rate of two feet a day. It grew up from a hole in the middle of the back room, and it kept growing until we thought it was tall enough and strong enough to climb. We cut a hole in the roof to allow it to rise up to the sky.
Mr. T.
The willow tree stood alone in the middle of the field. On this particular day, it was gorgeous and covered in hoar frost. It almost seemed to crumple under the weight of the frost but yet it stood there, alone and proud. What a willow, indeed.
Amanda
willow smith whips her hair back and forth like the leaves and vines of a willow tree. those have always been a creepy tree to me and willow smith is actually kind of creepy too. so i guess it fits well. also spiders live in them. ew.
morgan
Willow was the most beautiful faerie I had ever seen. She whispered in my ear that she was named for the Will-o-the-Wisp.
I ran heedlessly through the little town, finally coming to a stop in a small forest where a stream blocked my path. I slumped down beside a willow, fighting back the madness that threatened to overtake me.
weeping willow. sad and solid. you are the silent citadel that stands strong. though you are starry-eyed and weather stained, you are loved. lovely and loved.
camila
the willow tree was swaying in the wind beside the small, dirty pond. the boy grabber the girls hand and started to walk away. they walked through the field all the way to the barn on the opposite side of the garden. here he kissed her and looked into her eyes.
nellie
I think of a willow when I think of the tree next doors. The most beautiful thing in the world is a tree because without them we would not be alive. They remind me of Pocahontas. Also, it reminds me to whip my hair back and forth….
Crystal
I encountered the adventures of the Whomping Willow over the weekend, mostly because of Darren. He’s a Harry Potter fanatic, and the ABC Family Marathon had him glowing all weekend. I had only read up to the third book, and seen the first four movies. But after being (semi) forced to watch it, I have learned to appreciate fantasy a little bit more.
Kattey
A small patch of serene is where this path of chaos will take me, it may not be ideal but in the end we’ll sit there, together, and it will be as easy as breathing.
bella elaine
sometimes i feel like a weeping willow. people consider them to be beautiful and graceful, but the name makes it different. I’m weeping. I wallow and sway and don’t feel happy anymore. But nobody expects this from me. Why me.
Meg
tree
sad
smith
whip
I whip my hair back and forth
green
lake
serene
impressionism
weeping
my childhood
Willow
willow
willow
willow
willow
low
will
lol
leaves
placentae
personator
O how the willow bends toward a hot napkin in its place in time. O, weary pillowed willow will you marry me? I think not, you inanimate object you! Is my 60 seconds up yet?…..O WILLOW!!!
BusToChase
Bend like the willow, or break like the oak. I prefer to strive for flexibility in my life, rather than constantly being sent over and asunder by the prevailing winds.
She wears a willow on her leg. Strong, but flexible. She bends for everyone, but never bows, never breaks. Black and white inks, showing her favorite tree.
The sound of tree branches as they hit her window during the night–that was what she remembered the most clearly, background noise more prominent than foreground noise. But the storm couldn’t deny the screaming from down the hallway. She knew, in the morning, they would all be gone.
The branches stretch into the pond. It’s too bad they can’t support my weight. I’d swing on them. over and over again. I think I’ll create a shrinking potion, in my lab. So I can swing on the willow leaves… those long leaves and branches.
I sat underneath a willow tree gazing out of it’s branches. The sky was the color of the ocean and yet I wanted nothing more than it to be black. Night was coming and I was excited for it. I needed it more than anything in the world.
D.J.
Willow trees are pleasant sorts of trees. They provide but shade and a fun place to hide. As a child, I always wanted to play under my neighbors’ willow tree but was too afraid to ask. I never got to play but it was always excellent to look at from my window.
Renee Baenen
The wind in the willows. I have always wanted a weeping willow in our yard. I think they are so beautiful, and yet the word “weeping” describes them perfectly.The have a sad sort of beauty about them, a kind that could break your heart. Als, Grandmother Wllow, from Pocahontas, is so wise. The willow’s leaves kind of look like Pocahontas’s hair. I want a willow at my house when I grow up and have my own house. Willow, willow, willow. Nothing is prettier than the wind blowing through the willow trees. I can imagine this tree in a magical sort of forest, but a dark sort of forest, one with mysteries and secrets. Isn’t this minute up yet?! Goodness, at what you can write in a minute. I wish all my school papers got written this quickly! I think words like quickly sound kinda British. Hurry up, clock! I’m trying not to reread what I’ve written! I wonder what happens when the minute is up. Time flies when you’re having fun, but this seems longer than a minute.,, I think I type very loudly. How am I thinking of this much to say?: Because I’m saying whatever pops into my head, which is not much about willows. Willows will be in my book when I finally write a book. It will be a book that describes that South in great detail, and the most important thing about that is the trees. I have always thought trees were beautiful in a subtle kind of way, not like a flower.
Jessie
in the wind the whistling willow lays along the dusty path, chipped away over time its braches are bleached and hollow the tears dried up as the long path divides the walkways. we take a long look at ourselves whenwe are alone withnature, it takes us back to our roots, to who we are and why we connect so lovingly with a tree is inexplainable. does the tree feel in to? the lifefore of mother nature drawing us all in together, pouring the energy from the universe between us, free for us to drink? the tree doesnt look sad to me. it looks humble, old, wise. silently knowing all is well, reassuring in whats to come, familiarity in spades when we walk past her braches, knowing tomorrow she will still be there, smiling and bowing to the soft gentle breeze.
A couple under a willow tree, about to split up but instead, they end up staying together. Couple moved into new house because it had willow tree in front garden and that swayed the decision, hollow romantic gesture. Woman has baby and they try to settle down, both knowing they should’ve split up years ago. Woman reflects on this as she watched their child playing in the tree.
Jen
tree is beautiful soft waving branches in the wind i love it peaceful the sun shining through the branches help me reflect and realize that i’m not alone there’s so much in this world it’s beautiful i cant get enough hammock swinging free.
elizabeth
willow tree, how your beautiful long branches sweep to my feet. cascading down to the ground, touching where it stems from. Oh willow tree, must you be so sad? You seem to weep year round. Why must you weep, willow tree? Are you distraught?
Ashley Corazon
It was a rather odd thing to call a girl, she thought. She’d always hated her name. You couldn’t even shorten it to a cute little nickname… but, well, as long as he liked it, she supposed it was okay.
A willow sat on the waters edge of a pond long forgotten. Its branches sagged to the ground and seemed to be weeping with the neglect the park it calls it home has seen. Not five years ago kids hung from its branches and the shouts from them rang out across the still water.
Katrina
Under the wise willow, I write.
I write.
I write.
I don’t know what to write about. The wise willow I write under provides no influence. I write about the wonder. Not the wonder of the wise willow born unto this world. I write about the wonder of the world itself. I wonder the same thing… everyday. Am I insane?
I wonder. I write about my wonder. I really want to know if you read my wonders?
Are “you” reading my wonders?
Iceman
What is a willow?A willow tree?There are not many of those.
its a tree with lots of pretty branches that swallow you up in the dead of night. it knows your soul. it is not merely a tree but a supernatural being. it can only know you if you know yourself. it is simply beauty.
Crystal
Why do we always think of the willow as a sad tree? Is it because its thin branches and plethora of leaves cause it to droop, sad and depressed? Is it because its name is composed of only soft, feminine sounds?
Perhaps we shouldn’t worry about it, and just stop anthropomorphizing every fucking thing we come across.
Under the willow tree, we sat. The four of us. SMoking weed under the willow tree. We were as carefree as four could be. Smoking weed under the willow tree. We sould burst out with laughter then scream out with hate. under the willow tree.
Then she laid her head back against the trunk of the willow tree. Breathed in, then out slowly. Think. Pray. She doesn’t know what’s right to feel anymore.
Willow trees are so beautiful. For some reason though, the word ‘willow’ makes me think of a girls name rather than the tree. I really have nothing else to say about this word….
I had never known the world around me to have emotion when I was a child. But as I’ve grown, I’ve seen things differently. Animals show emotions, mountains have faces and things die. The world around us feels more than we can ever know. It’s even grown to the point where the trees can cry.
As time went on and as summer died, the willow cried his tears. Because he alone knew the truth; that world would keep moving, until everything was dust. It meant nothing.
Christian
branches falling gracefully, their hair overhanging the weeping lake. it’s beautiful, she thinks as she sips her coffee, la mer la mer. dipping into the newest box of toffees.
pillow on the grass. Summer night taking a class. Calm winds deadly sins. The trees weep and bleed. Imagine death through life, and birth through murder. Will broken, strength sapped, sleeping rest.
It was almost nightfall as I sat under the willow tree with my wife. She gazed at the sunset and all I could think about was how beautiful she looked at the sun shined off her face with a tint of red and orange.
The willow grew skyward at a rate of two feet a day. It grew up from a hole in the middle of the back room, and it kept growing until we thought it was tall enough and strong enough to climb. We cut a hole in the roof to allow it to rise up to the sky.
The willow tree stood alone in the middle of the field. On this particular day, it was gorgeous and covered in hoar frost. It almost seemed to crumple under the weight of the frost but yet it stood there, alone and proud. What a willow, indeed.
willow smith whips her hair back and forth like the leaves and vines of a willow tree. those have always been a creepy tree to me and willow smith is actually kind of creepy too. so i guess it fits well. also spiders live in them. ew.
Willow was the most beautiful faerie I had ever seen. She whispered in my ear that she was named for the Will-o-the-Wisp.
I ran heedlessly through the little town, finally coming to a stop in a small forest where a stream blocked my path. I slumped down beside a willow, fighting back the madness that threatened to overtake me.
There’s a such thing as an upright willow. They’re pretty cool when they sway in the breeze.
My neighbors have upright willows. It seems to me one year, they had no trees. Two years later, they had 50′ tall upright willows.
My perception of the growth rate of these trees is probably skewed. I try not to look across the street often.
weeping willow. sad and solid. you are the silent citadel that stands strong. though you are starry-eyed and weather stained, you are loved. lovely and loved.
the willow tree was swaying in the wind beside the small, dirty pond. the boy grabber the girls hand and started to walk away. they walked through the field all the way to the barn on the opposite side of the garden. here he kissed her and looked into her eyes.
I think of a willow when I think of the tree next doors. The most beautiful thing in the world is a tree because without them we would not be alive. They remind me of Pocahontas. Also, it reminds me to whip my hair back and forth….
I encountered the adventures of the Whomping Willow over the weekend, mostly because of Darren. He’s a Harry Potter fanatic, and the ABC Family Marathon had him glowing all weekend. I had only read up to the third book, and seen the first four movies. But after being (semi) forced to watch it, I have learned to appreciate fantasy a little bit more.
A small patch of serene is where this path of chaos will take me, it may not be ideal but in the end we’ll sit there, together, and it will be as easy as breathing.
sometimes i feel like a weeping willow. people consider them to be beautiful and graceful, but the name makes it different. I’m weeping. I wallow and sway and don’t feel happy anymore. But nobody expects this from me. Why me.
tree
sad
smith
whip
I whip my hair back and forth
green
lake
serene
impressionism
weeping
my childhood
Willow
willow
willow
willow
willow
low
will
lol
leaves
placentae
O how the willow bends toward a hot napkin in its place in time. O, weary pillowed willow will you marry me? I think not, you inanimate object you! Is my 60 seconds up yet?…..O WILLOW!!!
Bend like the willow, or break like the oak. I prefer to strive for flexibility in my life, rather than constantly being sent over and asunder by the prevailing winds.
She wears a willow on her leg. Strong, but flexible. She bends for everyone, but never bows, never breaks. Black and white inks, showing her favorite tree.
The sound of tree branches as they hit her window during the night–that was what she remembered the most clearly, background noise more prominent than foreground noise. But the storm couldn’t deny the screaming from down the hallway. She knew, in the morning, they would all be gone.
The branches stretch into the pond. It’s too bad they can’t support my weight. I’d swing on them. over and over again. I think I’ll create a shrinking potion, in my lab. So I can swing on the willow leaves… those long leaves and branches.
I sat underneath a willow tree gazing out of it’s branches. The sky was the color of the ocean and yet I wanted nothing more than it to be black. Night was coming and I was excited for it. I needed it more than anything in the world.
Willow trees are pleasant sorts of trees. They provide but shade and a fun place to hide. As a child, I always wanted to play under my neighbors’ willow tree but was too afraid to ask. I never got to play but it was always excellent to look at from my window.
The wind in the willows. I have always wanted a weeping willow in our yard. I think they are so beautiful, and yet the word “weeping” describes them perfectly.The have a sad sort of beauty about them, a kind that could break your heart. Als, Grandmother Wllow, from Pocahontas, is so wise. The willow’s leaves kind of look like Pocahontas’s hair. I want a willow at my house when I grow up and have my own house. Willow, willow, willow. Nothing is prettier than the wind blowing through the willow trees. I can imagine this tree in a magical sort of forest, but a dark sort of forest, one with mysteries and secrets. Isn’t this minute up yet?! Goodness, at what you can write in a minute. I wish all my school papers got written this quickly! I think words like quickly sound kinda British. Hurry up, clock! I’m trying not to reread what I’ve written! I wonder what happens when the minute is up. Time flies when you’re having fun, but this seems longer than a minute.,, I think I type very loudly. How am I thinking of this much to say?: Because I’m saying whatever pops into my head, which is not much about willows. Willows will be in my book when I finally write a book. It will be a book that describes that South in great detail, and the most important thing about that is the trees. I have always thought trees were beautiful in a subtle kind of way, not like a flower.
in the wind the whistling willow lays along the dusty path, chipped away over time its braches are bleached and hollow the tears dried up as the long path divides the walkways. we take a long look at ourselves whenwe are alone withnature, it takes us back to our roots, to who we are and why we connect so lovingly with a tree is inexplainable. does the tree feel in to? the lifefore of mother nature drawing us all in together, pouring the energy from the universe between us, free for us to drink? the tree doesnt look sad to me. it looks humble, old, wise. silently knowing all is well, reassuring in whats to come, familiarity in spades when we walk past her braches, knowing tomorrow she will still be there, smiling and bowing to the soft gentle breeze.
A couple under a willow tree, about to split up but instead, they end up staying together. Couple moved into new house because it had willow tree in front garden and that swayed the decision, hollow romantic gesture. Woman has baby and they try to settle down, both knowing they should’ve split up years ago. Woman reflects on this as she watched their child playing in the tree.
tree is beautiful soft waving branches in the wind i love it peaceful the sun shining through the branches help me reflect and realize that i’m not alone there’s so much in this world it’s beautiful i cant get enough hammock swinging free.
willow tree, how your beautiful long branches sweep to my feet. cascading down to the ground, touching where it stems from. Oh willow tree, must you be so sad? You seem to weep year round. Why must you weep, willow tree? Are you distraught?
It was a rather odd thing to call a girl, she thought. She’d always hated her name. You couldn’t even shorten it to a cute little nickname… but, well, as long as he liked it, she supposed it was okay.
A willow sat on the waters edge of a pond long forgotten. Its branches sagged to the ground and seemed to be weeping with the neglect the park it calls it home has seen. Not five years ago kids hung from its branches and the shouts from them rang out across the still water.
Under the wise willow, I write.
I write.
I write.
I don’t know what to write about. The wise willow I write under provides no influence. I write about the wonder. Not the wonder of the wise willow born unto this world. I write about the wonder of the world itself. I wonder the same thing… everyday. Am I insane?
I wonder. I write about my wonder. I really want to know if you read my wonders?
Are “you” reading my wonders?
What is a willow?A willow tree?There are not many of those.
its a tree with lots of pretty branches that swallow you up in the dead of night. it knows your soul. it is not merely a tree but a supernatural being. it can only know you if you know yourself. it is simply beauty.
Why do we always think of the willow as a sad tree? Is it because its thin branches and plethora of leaves cause it to droop, sad and depressed? Is it because its name is composed of only soft, feminine sounds?
Perhaps we shouldn’t worry about it, and just stop anthropomorphizing every fucking thing we come across.
Willow
Pillow
Rest your head
Trees and memories stir,
Instead
Moments have passed
Of times that will never last
Under the willow tree, we sat. The four of us. SMoking weed under the willow tree. We were as carefree as four could be. Smoking weed under the willow tree. We sould burst out with laughter then scream out with hate. under the willow tree.
Then she laid her head back against the trunk of the willow tree. Breathed in, then out slowly. Think. Pray. She doesn’t know what’s right to feel anymore.
Willow trees are so beautiful. For some reason though, the word ‘willow’ makes me think of a girls name rather than the tree. I really have nothing else to say about this word….
I had never known the world around me to have emotion when I was a child. But as I’ve grown, I’ve seen things differently. Animals show emotions, mountains have faces and things die. The world around us feels more than we can ever know. It’s even grown to the point where the trees can cry.
As time went on and as summer died, the willow cried his tears. Because he alone knew the truth; that world would keep moving, until everything was dust. It meant nothing.
branches falling gracefully, their hair overhanging the weeping lake. it’s beautiful, she thinks as she sips her coffee, la mer la mer. dipping into the newest box of toffees.