Combing the willow’s hair
is a wind cold and autumnal.
It twines about soccer players,
and curls into secret places,
places lined with leaves and
cushioned with damp wishes.
Thoughts are birds
zigzagging in branches
alighting on bobbing twigs
in the willow’s bouncy house.
I remember tadpole wiggles,
looking for dangling legs
between the sunspots and
cherry blossoms dotting
the burbling brook.
In that thin suburban wood,
I found a tree too young to climb
and other places I couldn’t follow.
The willow’s house invited with
a knob of bark for a handhold,
a limb wide enough for a teacup.
Its leaves held all the stars
from sundown to sunup.
Now I follow my daughter there,
and the magic hasn’t gone.
Giggles, leaf mold, and secrets
crown the twilight willow world.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: Happy Friday the 13th! So close to Halloween, the day has a spooky feel. It set me remembering once, when Friday the 13th fell on Halloween itself. Or am I inventing that? I love to invent things, after all. I hope your memories are playing fun games with you today, too. Hello to all from Poetry Friday, hosted this week by Wee Words for Wee Ones. Kids of all ages are welcome here. Have a magical weekend!