“Just as a dancer, turning and turning, may fill the dusty light with the soft swirl of her flying skirts, our weeping willow – now old and broken, creaking in the breeze – turns slowly, slowly in the winter sun, sweeping the rusty roof of the barn with the pale blue lacework of her shadow.”

“Just as a dancer, turning and turning, may fill the dusty light with the soft swirl of her flying skirts, our weeping willow – now old and broken, creaking in the breeze – turns slowly, slowly in the winter sun, sweeping the rusty roof of the barn with the pale blue lacework of her shadow.”

— Ted Kooser