Little Willow

Press, 31 January 1989, Page 14

Little Willow

By

Jessie Shanks

of Prebbleton Let me out, please let me out. If I push a little more I’ll be free. Free of this awful damp, mushy place. I can already feel the sun on my shoot. Oh, that’s better. The little willow, well you could hardly call him a willow, was two centimetres above the ground. Where am I? Please will you tell me, grass. Don’t you know, silly? We are in the land of giants of course. The little willow blushed. “Sorry.” So the days went by and soon the little willow found he had grown two more centimetres He was proud for he was a seedling off a great willow. If he arched his shoot high enough he could see the great willow high above. One sad day the wind swept wildly about. Suddenly there was a big crash. The great willow fell to the ground. At first the little willow was too shocked to speak. Then great tears rolled down his cheeks. The great willow had died. He

hadn’t ever grown big enough to speak to the willow, and now he was dead. The grass wasn’t crying. He seemed angry. “Why did that dumb willow have to fall on Uncle Greninberg? “What do you mean, great willow is dead,” sobbed little willow. “Stop your blubbering,” snapped grass. “Uncle Greeninberg has survived many lawnmower cuts,” Grass said proudly, forgetting that Uncle Greeninberg was squashed. Then a few days after the accident little willow saw another little willow, except, I must admit, that little willow was not too little any more. So we shall call him bigger willow. Little willow said, “Where am I? Please will you tell me bigger willow?” Bigger willow was about to say, “Don’t you know, silly?” Then he stopped. He might be my friend. So he said, “We are in Giant land. The little willow smiled and said, “Will you be my friend?” and bigger willow said, “Yes, I’ll be your friend.”