Keeping Weeping Willows Secret by Jo Jansen |
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Willow...a great tree with a noble heart.
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Weeping Willow was surrounded by large bushes. Mostly weeds now, once they had been trimmed and carefully tended, roses, lilac, and small dog wood trees, and they had been his companions. Now, many of the rose bushes had gone wild, the lilacs had died long ago, and the dogwood trees had given way to other invaders...wild oak scrub trees, and some Crab Trees, gone wild. The grasses, once trimmed and neat, now waved their heads in the wind, standing as high as a tall child's head. You could not see ahead or behind you, and no one could see you. Off to the left were the ruins of a farm house. It once was white with rose trim, an old swing still hung on its posts. The gate lay somewhere in the dirt and grass. The fence, it once clung to, was no where to be seen. The foundation was all that was left of most of the house. But in one corner a wall still stood, a window still in place, and on what was left of the old floor boards, was some printed linoleum. The pattern was of wild roses, pink and red, and the wall paper, that could still be seen in places around the window frame, showed that the wall paper was similar to the floor pattern. And on the window sill was a carving...with the words..."Remember the Weeping Willow." That is all that was left of a place, a home, once sheltering a family...a father, mother, and three children, two cats and one large dog. You could dream your dreams there...under the Weeping Willow Tree. The oldest boy would sit there and watch his mother hang the clothes on the line. First she would hang the shirts, Sunday shirts, and then the working, playing shirts. Then his father's large working pants, and his smaller ones. Then came his mother's and sister's clothes. Each hung in order. "Easier to take off the line," his mother would say, "Pre-sorted." She would carefully take each piece off, as they dried, fold them and lay them in the basket. And when the storms came, she would hang them on the porch. And he would hide, under the old picnic table, under the Weeping Willow and watch. He was a silent child, always had been, and his parents called him Quiet. What his real name was, no one could remember, but Quiet is what came to be known the rest of his days. His sister could not walk well. She had been born that way. Father said it was so he could hold her longer. God knew what he was doing when things like this happened. It was so fathers and mothers could cherish the little ones a little longer. "It takes just a little longer for them to grow up," father would say. "You will be gone much to soon, Quiet, but your sister will be here, to make us not so lonely. How glad we are that God sent us one wonderful dreamer, and one sweet little rose. How very Glad!" The boy named the little girl Rose. The day she came home from the hospital, he looked at her mouth and laughed. "She has a mouth," he cried joyfully "like Weeping Willows little Roses." So Rose was her name. When Rose was five, her father told Quiet he could carry her out to Weeping Willow. But he must remember not to leave her alone. Not even for minute. Carefully Quiet helped her walk as far as she could, then he picked her up and carried out to the great old tree. For the weeping willow tree was ancient even then. He placed her under the old picnic table on a blanket, and carefully placed all of his favorite things close to her, so she could reach them. "What is this," asked the little girl. Her brother stopped collecting his "treasure" and turned around. "Well, its a box. A special box. Dad made it from an old tree limb that fell in a storm the night I was born. It holds all the treasures of the magic world." The little girl opened up the lid. The boy watched. Rose looked in side...just peeking up under the lid. The hinges had rusted and it would only open part way. Inside...inside was something bright. You could just see it gleaming...golden...bright..."Ohhhh..." she said,"What is in there?" She shook the little box and it made no sound. Trying to get the lid open further she made it squeak. Her brother laughed. "It won't open anymore, it rusted shut years ago. Dad said we would break it if we tried harder...and the screws that hold the hinges on won't come out. Dad tried." up next page story index He bent over and looked up into the crack of the box. "I travel inside there, sometimes" he spoke in a whisper. "I go places that you have never heard of. I go deep into the world of "Weeping Willow". There, he is a Wise Tree, and many come from all around to hear his advice and ask him questions...but..." the boy leaned towards his sister, "he knows the answer before you ask the question!" "Ohhhhhh..." said the little girl, her eyes wide with wonder. "How do you get in? How do you get in there brother? Would I be able to run and play like you, would father and you not have to carry me so often, would I be strong like Mother?" The boy pondered this..."Well I know how to get us in, and I must come, for Father said I can not leave you alone, he was very clear about that, but I don't know if "Weeping Willow" can or will make you well." The old tree seemed to bend over a little more in the wind that day. Their mother kept looking out the kitchen window...to make sure they were safe. They were sitting quietly under the picnic table playing. But it was something about the tree that bothered her. And so through out the day she would come back to the window and watch. "We must close our eyes and hold the box, with only our two little fingers slipped under the lid, holding on to the inside of the box. Mine just barely fit inside anymore, but I believe we can still both do it." So carefully the little Rose slipped her two little fingers inside the box, and her brother placed his next to hers, and he closed his eyes. Rose was supposed to close her eyes as well, she knew that...he had explained, "if you looked you could get confused about where you were going and might forget how to come back...Close! Them Sister"...he had said...Rose did not close her eyes. Slowly the great Weeping Willow began to weave his long branched into patterns...shapes...dreams....wishes...soft songs...voices...singing...and the house began to fade into the distance...and Rose started to become frightened...it all faded...she could feel her brothers soft breathe on her face...the breeze of the tree...smell the rose bushes all about her...then....it was gone. All of it...the house...mother...swing....rose bushes...picnic table...all gone. And she was sitting under a great Weeping Willow...with Quiet...and the animals all around her were indifferent to her sudden appearance. She could not see the box. But she could see Quiet, now opening his eyes...he smiled at her.."We are here," he said, "Just like I promised. Old Tree this is my little sister I have told you about. Her name is Rose. And she wonders if she can run and play here. If she can be strong like other children...and if you can make it so she is strong when we go back." Old Tree was very stern in his answer, " Didn't I make it clear to you Quiet, if you were going to come here you must keep your eyes shut or you would lose your way home? Did I not make that very clear?" "Oh yes, I made my sister understand, and our eyes were shut, Old Tree. I won't be able to come much longer, for my little fingers will soon be to big to fit inside of the box. So I thought I would bring her here and introduce her to you. Maybe she could come here and play as I have done, from time to time." Old Tree understood now that the boy had Trusted as much as he could. One of Old Trees favorite philosophies. "Well...Quiet....your eyes were shut...but your sister had hers open." The boy stood up...looked at his sister, in fear. "Open...Sister were your eyes open? I told you you would become confused and not be able to find your way home. Why did you do this?" Rose stood up and slowly began to walk...."I can walk," she began to run..."Look Quiet...Look at me...I can run...." And as she ran she began to drift from sight...the boy started to run after her, but the great Willow Tree took hold of him. There is nothing you can do for her...Nothing at all..." After staying many days, the boy left Old Tree to go home, . He had spent Days searching for his sister, and from time to time he would think he heard her singing, soft sweet songs, but when he turned, she would be gone. He called after her again and again, and sometimes he heard her answer...but never in fear, only in wonder...at being able to run and walk like other children. He went home...only hours, not days as he knew them, had passed since he took her out...his mother was standing in the kitchen doorway...calling the two of them....Quiet stood up, walked to the house...none of them ever spoke of that day...another little girl was born one year later...and she could walk and run...and sang in the sweetest voice ever heard. And she knew Quiets name before any others. She would reach out to him and smile and laugh, whenever he passed. He named her BlueBird. Because of her sweet manner. Father and Mother often said God knew what he was doing...sending them such wonderful children. They moved when BlueBird was five. No one ever asked why. They say, sometimes, when you sit very still under the The Weeping Willow, you can hear the joy of a laughing child, running and singing, in the voice of the angels. And if you listen very hard and are very, very still, you will feel a soft wisp on your cheek, like the sweet breathe of a child, and hear a soft voice whispering..."I am not sad here...Remember the Weeping Willow...Come and see me sometime....but remember keep your eyes shut. Ohhhh I can run here, I can run!" Then you will hear the grasses and see them move as if some fairy were dancing on them. If you are very, very quiet and still. |
