I knew as soon as her home became our home that we would plant a tree Right outside the window --- It would bring us joy and pleasure All the days of our life as our surging Love did inside. On a sunny fall day, we planted our fruitless pear, barely taller than us and not much thicker when a broom. We try so hard to plant her just right - position, place, depth, stakes and all. But alas we see she leans toward the house like a mother to its child -- We cannot Force her back no matter how hard we try and so she tilts to this day. All these years I have looked at her through the window. And now I remember a tree outside the window of the house of my youth -- I painted a picture of the tree in winter - all white and a few strokes of black and brown. Where has that painting Gone? Hiding with my youth? Now at 63 I look at this scene in my head -- It's as if I'm seeing another life, another World – it's in a shadowbox on the memory wall of my mind - I peer in and all is small and cozy and overly sentimental like a chapter of Little Women And Jo is looking through the window at a tree in the snow.
Reference Citation: Rayher, Marcy. (2003). "My Tree ." WILLA, Volume XII, p. 3.