Growing up, we had a beautiful weeping willow. I’ve never loved any plant as much as I loved that tree. Its voluptuous canopy and cascading vines provided the setting for hours of pretend games for my sister and me.
Its long vines also made for a great hiding place for a little boy who frequently needed a place to cry where he wouldn’t get in trouble for being “too sensitive”.
We moved from Oregon to California, and away from the weeping willow, when I was eleven. Our new home had a palm tree and cactus in the backyard. Neither of which were as magical as the weeping willow.
I hadn’t thought much about that tree in decades. During the course of the pandemic, I started aching for it again. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out that the state of the world was freaking me out and I wanted my safe hiding place back.
Perhaps I was trying to recreate my safe place when I wrote this haiku last year. And maybe this haiku has been haunting me for a couple of weeks as I pondered how to illustrate it because I needed to do more to bring my tree back to life.
There aren’t enough good hiding places for rattled adults in this world.
That’s why I make art.
Be the weird you want to see in the world!
Cheers,
Jason
This is so true, Jason!