Broken willow tree

Evening spring warmth and light
brings me to the risen river
swollen with clear rushing water.

Purple violets here and there
raise their heads to feel the air
church tower ding dongs the hour.

Here I sit near broken willow
stood majestically tall six long winters ago
where I sat with a Lover for a Christmas dinner in snow.

Our barbecue winter four course meals, whatever the weather
unfashionable, until others as mad as us, announced it 'de rigeur.'
Then it was, that willowy tendril garlands decorated our day to tumble on us there.

Willowy strands reminded us, kept us in touch
with the geographical history of man
but Nature does not stay;
willowy tendrils like love can be broken
as all things pass,
whilst the River and Water of Life flows on and on
carrying flotsam and jetsam.

Walking on
found jazz on a 2cv.
A party.
A glass of white wine and company.
Society.
I am alive.
Like willow I can regrow.

This winter broken

with still an eye to view

the barque

the chateau

the church

Thank you willow tree.