The Weeping Willow.

 
I cut a twelve foot tree down today. Cut down in its prime, by me, the one who planted it just about four years ago. Too near to the house in my humble opinion. I know it was quite small then as it was still in a pot albeit a large one. But I knew how large the tree could grow and thought it should go at the end of the garden, about fifty feet from the house. But she was having none of it. “I want it there where I can see it from the window” she had said. The “she” in question was an elderly relative who’s opinions could be swayed by no one. She was quite taken with it as I had twisted it round and around a bamboo cane as it grew in the pot so that the trunk looked like a corkscrew, screwing it into the ground. I had changed the bamboo cane for a thicker, brush handle, and later an even thicker one from the garden centre. I was pleased with the results thinking it would make a talking point when it grew, but nine foot in four years was beginning to worry me. It wasn’t a fast growing conifer  but a weeping willow. A very pretty tree with it’s fronds sweeping down to the floor almost hiding the corkscrew trunk. You could barely make out the red nets full of peanuts for the birds. I didn’t until I spotted them on the lopped off branches on the ground.
I had cut off the lower branches to let the dog see the rabbit so to speak. In doing so the trunk was exposed, and I stood there wishing I could just unscrew it out of the ground. Then I could screw it back in a bit further from the house. But it wasn’t to be.
It took a lot of lopping and bow-sawing, and a certain amount of brute force before it was down. I carried it all to the bottom of the garden near the drive gates, piling it up ready for disposal.
“She” had no say in it now, as she had passed away a few months ago and her house was on the market to be sold. I was just clearing the garden ready for any prospective buyer. Placing the last branch on top of the pile and glancing back at the house, I thought I could hear the sound of someone crying. Was it her? Or it could have been the tree, as after all, it was a WEEPING WILLOW.