The rush of traffic being brushed by the willow tree’s branches,
the hands of eager children rushing to jump and touch its branches.
It lets everyone know when the season is lush again with thriving, green branches.
The cats come out and sleep in the underbrush of yards again, because they were told it was okay by the willow’s branches.
People sigh when they walk onto porches, relieved that winter has been crushed by these branches.
Laurel street is never hushed, but even less so now because of these branches.
As a girl races out of her house, still clutching a hairbrush, she notices the branches.
Plush nests where baby birds chirp, safe in the willow’s branches.
Keep walking and brush your hair, Rebecca–you’re going to be late.
Yes, even past the pretty olive green leaves of the branches!