I do not know when or where it originated, just that it seems to stretch back as far as I can recall. The secret wish for a willow tree. Under the yellow-green waving canopy, spread out on a blanket. Each time I look at her my heart wells up so much, giddy and faint. A summer breeze wakes the dangling branches and they rustle gently before falling still again. There is no depth or time to it. It is only a dream, yet it plays before me each time I pass a willow.