Willow Heart

Willow heart



In a nearby grove sacred to Persephone, the artisan sings the song of the sea goat,

seeking eloquence, inspiration, and prophecy from the willow tree.



Indeed it is the wisdom of Solomon that lies hidden within. Her branches are a wellspring of leaves that rise up like a fountain, opening a crown of spreading branches. She is home to the nine muses, housing hawks, hare and cat, all in happy domesticity.



A vanguard for all seasons, she is first to arrive and the last to leave. Her hazy yellow flowers form catkins with short, leafy twigs in spring. Her golden brilliance carries her in autumn and remains long after ordinary trees have shed their finery.



In fullness and glory, as above and below the earth, the heart of the willow is a woman, an animal, a spirit. With her gnarly wooden trunks and finger-like branches, she reveals to me her mysteries. From moonwort to Mistletoe, Minerva and the wryneck, I and the nesting cranes seek out her fronds.



I go to her for serenity, listening for the gentle voice of Saille.



O sacred tree of the earth let me see the world through new eyes. Speak to me tales of unrequited love

from your heart that sits like a butterfly. A toadstool grows by your roots that meet miles underground— a tunnel to other worlds, passing through the dead, weaving ancestry in your limbs.



Oh whispering one, I see the woman in the willow, and many faces of past lives that live on. Tell me of the spirits that bind your roots, and the winds of karma that blows souls into your bards, passing them through from neighbouring cemeteries for rebirth in other realms.

Marching in epochs throughout the ages, she reveals to me—



A hanged man, an angel and a devil,

A wolf, a gnome and several sprites,

Those who have toiled, heaving a mighty blade, and

A child in a womb enjoying a sweet deep sleep. 



An old man, a tribal chief, corpses remnants and lost souls,

Baptisms, births and forbidden love,

A sad girl, her prince watching from a distance,

Past eternally twined with present .



Ode to the willow, every day is a new wonder.

How beloved, how treasured, how wondrous is your eloquent beauty—

Cut a limb, it sprouts anew, you can never die. Willow tree, you are truly immortal. 

Whisper all your secrets to me.