you don’t often see a weeping willow in southern california.
i remember them from my childhood; thinking that they were perhaps the most romantic of trees, drawing them (pencil on paper) along a riverbank so that their branches would touch the water, just as your fingers would should you be in a row boat trailing your fingers in the water while your lover plied the oars on a lazy afternoon.
have you weeped recently? the great racking sob, the inhalation as you try to catch your breath, tears streaming down your cheeks (they always stream, if they’re not pouring), running along your jaw line until you wipe them off with the back of your wrist (do you reach for a kleenex, a handkerchief, a towel, the back of a sleeve with those irritating buttons grabbing at your nose?) or do you let them run without interruption, leaves falling into a calm pool of water, the stillness a counterpoint to the emotion? (at least that’s what i see when i see a ‘weeping’ tree such as this eucalyptus that lives about a half block from my house and was blooming the other day, its flowers catching the early morning light.)