WILLOW 1

 

There is a drop on my cheek as I envision the descent of the wild willow tree. He crawls across the landscape In search of the cool cockle toed lion. Approaching with the weight of the world on his shoulders and sumptuous gifts in his pack. She spurns his call with sexual denial. His massive pangs that cry out into the wintry night deliver a sense of havoc that cannot be rendered with words. Closer analysis brings out the satisfaction that intelligent life does not exist in the mind of one who cannot deal with the present. The lion relaxes with a thought that brings her the most pleasure. The comfort of her mothers womb. Growing pains develop into fear and send her back to her mothers comfort. Dealing with reality is too great a demand on the cool cockle toed lion. And she runs and hides from the willow. Even the comforting whisper of the willow is fended off by the lion. She cannot face the responsibility of making a decision. Mother speaks and he listens. Mother leads and she follows. Mother and she are as one. But she cannot live her mother's life, only wallow in the shadow of her existence. Forever grieving of her sorrows while mother comforts her long black mane. And the wild willow will go on to whisper in some other ear.

LMB 1992