Weeping willow

I love to sit at the window and look outside. The kids and I like to make fun of how I am trapped inside, waiting to get out. Being outside is a form of freedom; a feeling of air and openness, beauty and life. Sometimes I watch out the window for hours. I especially love the mornings. Our kitchen window looks east. The sun rises over the mountains, its rays burst into dark sky then reflect from the clouds in colors of pink.

It is afternoon. I watch the graceful arms of the weeping willow tree. Its limbs still carry its leaves, not willing to give them to winter, and the wind pulls at its branches. Each surge of wind pushes the limbs north and with each relief they slowly swing south. North. South. North. South. In. Out. In. Out. Like the waves of the ocean and the rising and falling of the sun and the moon. 

I watch the willow. The leaves vibrate in the wind and a conversation replays in my head. "Its a chemical issue. Its not by choice." The branches gently sway south. Then North.  "It is common for those with Rheumatoid Arthritis to struggle with it."  South. North. "The problem arises when a patient cannot find a drug that works for them." South. North. "It usually resolves itself when a drug is found that lessons the pain." South. North. I wish he would stop talking. My breathing is strained. In. Out. In. Out. My throat tight with the urge to cry. I can feel the tension in my face and lips. I know where he is going. I know what he is trying to convince me of. I already know I have it. Just give me the drugs and let me go my way. The wind stops and the Willow stands.