Willowy

There was something about a willow
years ago that called to me,
its shape all ethereal,
wispy-bendy branches,
and a phrase about its strength…
See how it bends, I read.
See how it blooms quietly by the lake.
Hear its soft leaves fluttering in spring
and falling in autumn.
I thought that would be my tree,
the swan would be my bird,
and I would be my own angel somehow.

But grace has found me hawks and herons,
a small pond full of dragonflies,
woods full of firs and alders,
and more storms than I can count.
I have broken and mended,
fallen and stood again,
sometimes by degree- acorn to oak,
eternal spring ready to burst inside
even when the season has shifted.