We had a weeping willow tree in the backyard when I was growing up. It was an old tree, probably left standing in the yard when the rest of the woods were pared back because it was so distinctive and pretty. I loved it – it was one of my favorite places to play during the summer when the arcing branches and leaves created a little canopy, their leafy fingers stretching almost to the ground. We would pull the last foot or so of the leafy tendrils and use them as whips or ribbons – we did a lot of damage to that tree, even as we loved it. It’s just a stump now, but the yard I see in my mind’s eye still holds it. It’s probably why I’m so drawn to willow carvings in cemeteries even now.
A Grave Concern 