The wind and the willow

A short story by Joseph Engraver
THE WILLOW AND THE WIND
From the window of my veranda, I have a view of the distant mountains, and a river that starts there, a very short distance away.
A young, very small willow tree, that reminds me of a young girl with a skirt blowing high, is growing in the meadow across from my home.
I did not think she would live through the cold and snow and the bitter winds of winter that year, to my delight and surprise, I saw the first signs of life show in her small delicate branches, I could only smile when they began to dance with the gentile wind that blows in the spring. I became infatuated with her as she grew and her youthful innocence showed in the jade of the short elegant skirt she wore.
I am ninety-one years old, but I still enjoy watching natures beautiful creations from my comfortable rocking chair. I believe that graceful willow child has captured my heart and I am in love once more.
I have spent the entire summer enjoying the carousel of colorful butterflies that spend their days flitting about the willow honoring her youth and loveliness.
Many summers have come and gone now, the willow has matured into wonderous tree.
She stands tall and lovely in the meadow, admired by all who pass by her. Today the sun was up and the morning sky a pleasant turquoise blue, but there was an ominous cloud forming behind the mountains.

THE STORM
A blinding flash of light and the crash of a thunder clap woke me from my usual afternoon nap. I went to the window, the rain was pouring down and the willow tree was waving her branches wildly in the gusts of wind across the meadow. The wind was strong but not unusual for that time of the year. It was the storm clouds coming from the North West that worried me.
They covered the entire mountain range, I could no longer determine where they ended and sky began, in all my years I had never seen clouds so black. They rolled down the mountain and into the valley with a torrent of rain, hail and flashes of lightning leading the way. It looked like hell had been released upon my peaceful valley and was intent on destroying the Willow tree I loved.
Watched in shock when the storm began tearing the heavy clay tiles from a house nearby, concerned that the flying debris would break a window, I locked the shutters, said a prayer to God in hopes that my lovely willow would survive natures rage and went to bed. I laid awake listening to the storm, then there was silence. I woke at sunrise, went to the window, opened the shutters and tears came to my eyes when I saw the graceful Willow standing magically untouched in the meadow.
The End