The Weeping Willow

January 9, 2010
The sky is grey.
Lifeless, cold, and still.
The grass is all but dead.
On a small knoll, amongst the dead plants a large willow is rooted.
Grey mist drifts among the stretched limbs.
The leaves are brown, dried.
The willow tree is scarred, blackened by the flames.
A water droplet runs across the coarse bark.
The willow tree cries.

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