Peace in a willow

My favourite place in the entire world is on the east bank of Lake Penn. Under the rustling branches of an ancient willow tree, I find peace. Away from the meetings and deadlines. Away from the traffic, the bright lights, and the expectations. Away from the stress. For forty-six years this has been my sanctuary. Its sprawling branches cast shadow on the cool grass, and it’s here that I lay protected from the noonday sun. My lungs expand, filled to bursting with clean, crisp summer air. As they empty, they rid me of my anxieties. There’s no place for worry here. At the heart of the tree, cradled by its roots, I’m sure I can feel it breathing with me. I focus on the way the light bounces of the still water, broken only by passing ducks gliding along its surface. I try to capture its beauty in my sketches but how does one capture perfection.
At the time the sun finally kissed the horizon, I’m surrounded by discarded pastel drawings. None of them live up to the reality of this place, but that doesn’t matter, it’s the act of drawing, not the result that calms me. The chorus of crickets has replaced sweet birdsong. Fireflies mingle with the twinkling stars, and I know I should pack up and go, but I can’t. I can’t bring myself to leave my old friend, this wise willow tree that has comforted me all these years. So, I stare at the moon as the shadow surrounding me, melts into the night.

***

I wasn’t expecting to see Elle today, but here she is, resting in the shade with me. The laughter lines around her eyes deepen as she tells me about our granddaughter Tully, and how she loves to draw. My heart swells when she unfolds a pastel drawing of a meadow that rivals the beauty of the lake. I’ve not seen Tully for the longest time; since Elle told me she was starting school. I expect she’s busy, with new friends as much as her lessons, but I do hope she visits again soon. I miss watching her youthful optimism as she tries to befriend the local wildlife.
Elle looks tired. The shadows under her eyes are deeper now, and her face, though as beautiful as ever, seems to have thinned and hollowed. Where her favourite dress once hugged her shapely body, it now hangs from her bones. She digs her slender fingers into the earth and closes her eyes.
“Oh, my love. It both scares and excites me that we will be reunited again soon.”
I feel the warmth of her next to me as she allows herself to fall backward onto the soft grass. The willow tree sways in the breeze, cocooning us in its curtain of branches. I extend my arms towards her, as I’m always compelled to do, but as usual, I can’t quite reach. How I longed to hold her against me again; to smell her vanilla-scented hair and caress her velvet soft skin. But not yet. It was too soon. Tully needed her grandmother and Elle needed more time.

***

The sun beats down through the bare branches of the willow tree now. Its patchy shadow provides little refuge from the bright light of day. Its leaves carpet the floor in shades of honey and crimson. They crunch under the wheels of Elle’s chair as she is wheeled towards me. Tully and her mother head for the water, leaving Elle by the tree. She watches them walk away with a weak smile that no longer reaches her eyes. I feel the connection as she places a pale hand on the bark.
“Not long now my love.”
She is but a fraction of the woman she once was, her eyes are hollowed, her skin is paper-thin, but her fragile smile still radiates warmth as she watches Tully play by the lake with her mother. I watch her, watching them, and wonder if they’ll still visit as frequently once she’s gone. For the first time in decades, I feel our hands brush and her smile broadens ever so slightly.
“Is that you, my love?”
Yes, it’s me. I’m here, I’m always here.
“Look at them, my love. Aren’t they just perfect? Do you think they’ll be ok without me?”
How I wished she could hear me. To comfort her would be heavenly. Instead, I could only hope that my presence was comfort enough.

***

The icy air nips at my fingers as I stare vacantly at the icy lake. A bed of glistening snow surrounds my tree. There is no shadow, no shade needed, as the sun hides permanently behind rolling clouds. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen my Elle, and nature's splendor is no longer enough to keep my worries at bay. I can’t draw. I can’t breathe. I just sit and wait for the day that she is returned to me.

***

It is a still morning when Tully and her mother arrive with the urn. It was as though mother nature knew this was a solemn occasion and quietened her children out of respect. No waves lapped the shore, no ducklings played, and no birds sang, as Tully said a teary goodbye to her grandmother. She gripped at the hem of her mother’s coat, turning her little knuckles pale. The urn was wooden and delicately carved. An exquisite piece, expertly crafted, I was sure it was one Elle had chosen herself. As she was decanted to the breeze, Elle’s essence was carried over the lake, swirling and glistening in the sun before coming to rest on the surface.
Tully and her mother sat by the shore, holding each other, and watching as the lake sprang back to life.
“I see why you love this place.”
My wife’s voice carries to me, clearer than I’ve ever heard it. Her eyes sparkle and her radiant smile fills me with warmth. The willow sways in the breeze. My peace is complete, with my wife and me, in the shadow of an old willow tree.