The willow tree stood alone. Its limbs blowing in the breeze; Its vines cascading to the ground. I too am alone, the wind blowing my hair as it pleases. Here on my own standing on the ground, I wish to be those vines, falling through the earth. Descending lower than the core, only to slip out the other side.
The calls of a mocking bird pull me from my daydream. I return my attention to the plow. A prosperous crop this year is necessary I remind myself. For the past eight months my only concern has been the survival of my unborn child and myself. Corn is easily harvested, stored and fed; I plan to survive solely from this crop. Encouraging my mule forward, I continue my work, and tilling the dry soil as my father had once did. He would never approve if he could see me now, seeing to the fields and animals daily; not sewing, cleaning and cooking like my mother, a true women. Then again, he didn’t approve of my choices often. Smirking, my mind wanders off again, this time to my last memory of him.
“How could this happen, Kiersten, how could you disgrace your family in this way?” he screamed furiously.

He disowned me as his daughter that day.
Once again, I returned to reality wiping away the tears welled up in my eyes. Pushing the memory aside, I finish my work for the day barely as the sun sinks below the hill. Pulling the mule behind me, I head towards the glow, my warm home. After pasturing him, I fetch two new logs from the wood pile to fuel my constant fire. Routinely, I heat my rationed potato soup and bread, eat in silence and wash my dishes. Then I change out of my work dress and crawl into bed for the 238th restless night. Like many nights, dreams of what used to be and of my baby soothe me for most of the night, until my nightmares of what will be encroach my slumber. I awake shaken and sweaty. Arising from my bed, I cross the small room to the kitchen. Cool water always cures the nerves my mother used to say.
“I miss her so” I think aloud. She was always so comforting and calm. Unlike my father, I did not embarrass her. I was her only daughter, therefore making me her favorite child. She always fixed me the nicer meals, sewed me fancier clothes than my brothers. Although now I doubt that they envied my pretty dresses, I still bragged of my good luck.
“But what luck do I have now?” I ask myself, replying “None, Kiersten, your alone and no one is around to pity you or admire your hard work.”
Wrapping a blanket around myself I fall back into my mother’s rocking chair. Fastening my arms around my legs, I curl myself into the smallest ball possible. Tears trickle from eyes, falling onto my enlarged stomach as I cry myself to sleep, remembering my mother stroking my hair.
Many days and weeks pass, each day seeing to the farm and tending to the land; my days unbearably routine. Until the night I awake suddenly, my clothes and bed drenched. The time has finally come, this was the event I had dreaded and awaited for so long! After helping my mother with the birth of my younger brother, I had gathered the materials that I remembered would be needed. Even though I had prepared weeks before, my little knowledge was useless. A short time passed before it was all over. Reaching down I hold my tiny, beautiful, mangled child. His breath taken away before it was even given. It was then that I truly realized I was alone. All this time I had carried on with hope, only because I carried life within me. Knowing that one day I would have another to walk this empty world with me. Now all of my hopes and dreams were shattered; the pieces scattered farther than the eye can see almost like the seeds I have sown into the fields. My cries echoed into the night, no one to hear my sorrow, my pain.

The willow tree stands alone. Its limbs blowing in the breeze; Its vines cascading to the ground. As the sun sets over the hill, I too fall from the tree but my feet never hit the ground.