A friendly backyard giant, our curly willow[1] welcomed us under a billowy canopy in 2007 when we moved in.

She would provide a green parasol for picnics and games on many summer afternoons.

Our new yard was spacious, gently sloping and with our green giant casting her cooling umber over us, it recalled immortal words of poet Joyce Kilmer about the truth of trees.




“Trees” by Joyce Kilmer[2]

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

[1] Corkscrew (curly) willow, Salix matsudana, see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salix_matsudana

[2] See: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/1947