Bentwood Rocker

I have a Bentwood Rocker It's the most cherished thing I own It is made from the willow branches of an ancient tree at my grandparent's home. It embraces me on my back porch both in the morning and at night when a pair of cardinals come to visit me at both the first and last day's light. I rock in a gentle rhythm sip my coffee and watch the clouds and think to myself life's worth living As I just sit and rock without a sound. Sometimes I hum a favorite tune and sometimes I just rock silently alone somehow this chair seems to center me It motion washes away life's rough edged stones. As I sway and think of days gone gone by of my brothers and sisters and me climbing up among the branches of my grandparents big old willow tree. We used to swing on all the branches Like the Jungle Book's Tarzans and Janes Laughing and swingly wildly, never quiet nor mundane Yelling out profusely, howling out all the Jungle Book slang. We used to weave together the branches into leafy wreaths without any thorns improvised crowns of the greenest splendor Just as Julius Caesar would have worn. Sometimes we added in flowers Daisies and dandelions were always in season Sometimes we just sat in that old tree Just happy to be there, for no given reason. And so decades and decades of years have gone by My Grandparents have long since passed on But I think of them often as I rock in my chair Cherished memories to always remember. And now the winter has settled in My cherished rocker sits covered in snow Waiting for the days of the songbirds return Waiting for warm days instead of the cold. It sits silently waiting for Springs blossoms to arrive for a day when I can rock without being froze for an evening when relaxing in my comfortable rocker will signal the end of one of my beloved warmer days. Copyright Christine A Kysely December 14, 2010 (c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,