Daphne was good with plants. Always had been. At least that was what her father liked to say.
“You don’t just have a green thumb,” the old carpenter would chuckle as he watched her bring their garden and yard to life every spring, “you have a green soul!”
Daphne didn’t know about that, but the shy teen soaked in the compliments anyway like a flower drinking in the sunlight. She bloomed under the way his wrinkled face would break into smiles as she coaxed roses from stubborn bushes, and ripe tomatoes from the vine.
But winter always stole the color from their world, and her father passed, not long before her eighteenth birthday. Money was tight, and her talent with growing things became essential as she matured. It was lucky that the house and land had been paid off years before she was born, or she’d have been living in the forest instead of just visiting it when she liked. The garden and fruit trees she tended to so carefully kept her fed most of the year, and the preserves helped some during the winters.
The town was small, but spread out around the lake and forest. It was peaceful, but made it difficult to get to know your neighbors. Her shy nature in school hadn’t won her many friends, so the only visitors she had were the paper boy and the mailman.
But Daphne didn’t mind. She’d always found the town, small as it was, too loud for her comfort. Her age mates were too busy and intimidating. She preferred to spend her time weeding and tilling, trimming and harvesting. Seeing a small seedling sprout into a tall and powerful sunflower was all the excitement she needed.
The years passed and her garden grew, filling the backyard and flowing into the woods behind their property. It crept up against the house, which was so covered and bordered with plants that it disappeared into a curtain of growing things. If you didn’t know it was there you’d never spot it from the seldom traveled dirt road. And Daphne was content.
She stopped going into town. There was no need really. She had everything she could want from her plants. She didn’t know it but the new generation of children had started calling her the green witch. They’d creep as close to her domain as they dared before running away if they spotted her, like birds startled from a tree.
Her hair grew long and silver, shining in the sun and swaying behind her as she walked through her world. The flowers seemed to turn towards her, as if they knew it was Daphne that gave them as much life as the sun. Her long and knobby fingers trailed gently over budding plants. Her face, as lined as her father’s had once been, always carried a gentle smile for the bees buzzing lazy circles around her. They landed in her hair and on her shoulders to rest and drink in her calm presence before flying away again.
The garden didn’t need her as much as it once had, growing for years now. It’s roots ran deep, and it’s stems were strong. So each day she wandered further and further into the woods, exploring paths she hadn’t taken before. She passed the places her father had cut down trees for his work before she’d been born and he retired.
That was when she found the willow trees.
At the end of a long hike she was hot and tired. A breeze played over her face, bringing the intoxicating smell of something green and alive, and she turned to see two willow trees by a pond. The one furthest from the water was grand, towering over the clearing and shading everything around it. It’s branches dipped into the still waters of the pond and swayed in the breeze, sending ripples across the surface of the pond.
The second, on the opposite side of the pond, was smaller and much younger. Clearly the daughter of the ancient willow watching over it. Daphne felt drawn to it and brushed the hairlike branches aside so she could approach the trunk. The air under its canopy was cool and refreshed her, bringing strength back to her old limbs. She ran a hand over the gnarled bark, marveling at how it matched the whorls of her knuckles.
Her wandering walks were finished that day. She’d found what she was looking for.
Every day she walked to the pond and spent the day resting against the trunk of the smaller willow. The wind through the branches was the sweetest symphony. The frogs and dragonflies were the companions she’d always craved. And the moss between the roots were softer than any bed she’d ever known.
She started spending her evenings there. Then some nights. When winter came the willow sheltered her from the wind, and the fallen leaves were warm and soft. But the hike from her garden to the tree became more difficult as the years went by.
One day she walked through her garden, steps slow and careful. The vines and vegetables grew wild, with roots raising the earth in dips and hills. Everything was a riot of color before her as spring took hold and new lives began.
Reverently she ran gnarled fingers over the leaves and caressed the flowers fondly. The honey bees took turns buzzing past her as she worked her way to each of her friends to say goodbye. Their roots were strong and deep, Daphne knew they’d live and prosper for a long time with or without her.
But her own limbs were tired, and it was harder and harder to leave the willows each time she returned to the garden. She could feel that this was her last journey.
She stopped by the edge of the forest and looked back on her childhood home. Around it grew so many years and so many memories. The building itself was entirely reclaimed by nature, and the sight gave her satisfaction. As her father taught her, life always moved on.
The pond was quiet that afternoon. The frogs sat along the edge of the water, too warm and drowsy to do anything but nap. The wind rustled the new leaves on the willows and Daphne sighed at the musical sound. She smiled over at the matriarch tree as she caught her breath from the hike, and imagined a tall green figure waving at her from behind the branches in welcome.
“I’m home,” Daphne whispered as she waved back. She took weary steps across the moss to her tree and strength returned to her legs with each step she took. The branches embraced her as she entered her sanctuary and the roots caught her as she stumbled to her knees. They rolled, carrying her closer to the trunk until she lay against it looking up through green leaves at the dappled sunlight. With a deep breath in of the sweet air her face smoothed and color returned to her cheeks. The silver crown of hair soaked in the deep brown of the bark under her head and shone with life and health.
With a long exhale she sunk into the trunk of her tree, enveloped in a soothing darkness as she healed and recovered. Home at last.
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