a flash fiction

β☐☐∏Ω∞∆∆∆○●

Delphic. Bard. of Athens., Benjamine James Bussewitz’

Light of Sunrise’

Penmanship

(the following herein arch of language attributed for the goodness of life well-lived unto the hope that it helps the reader [always ask Athina]):

 "The Willow Tree"

The willow way is the winding tree, from resolute to infinite.  Infinity taking off to the head.  They would all say I am blessed; I guess I’m understood.  Well— the way the willow wants me, to the best of its knowledge, I suppose.  It imparts this wisdom, asks me if it is understood and I agree?

Oh, willow tree, which way are you wishing and welling me?

To the part of the parcel on the trail, where I follow the path just as well, or turn off to the side and beckon off to a home in the woods.

I guess I’m understood.

Your great authority surmises in me, what have you seen in your willow branches; what have you imparted in your willow chances?

The luck of the path is the wayward home.  I am on the good weeping willow’s meadow of love.

                                                                                                        by Ben Aperitif