Twigs Poking Memories Of Childhood Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Twigs poking my memories, bringing them to the forefront so I may see the beautiful willow trees of home when I was just a child.
Their long slender fingers grazing the lawn, hiding me behind them, because I didn't want to be found at times by anyone.
Turning towards the trunk, touching it's bark and lifting myself into the branches of it's arms, wanting to be held by mother nature.
Always feeling safe and secure in their hold, not ever wanting to climb back down.
Most of the time climbing higher - out of reach, until Mom or Dad called to me to come inside.
Then holding on to a branch and inching my way out it's length, swinging and letting go of it.
Falling to the ground, reveling in the release I found from mother nature's love.