Nobody ever stopped to ask the willow why it was weeping. Why its branches hung low; why it was afflicted with a look of perpetual sadness. Nobody ever stopped to hear that the willow wasn’t actually sad, but simply overcome with occasional loneliness.
All it wanted was the same life as the other trees; birds to make their nests in its branches, but with such flimsy limbs this was impossible for the willow. Instead it had to make do with pond-skaters and other insects.
At first, in its younger days as a growing sapling, this did affect the willow, but with time, the willow had begun to appreciate the beauty of its predicament. It was different; enjoying a beautiful pond-side view that the other trees, grand oaks and slender birches, whispered in the wind of their jealousy.
Confidence built in the willow and eventually, despite the drooping of its long, swaying arms, it gained something much more than nesting birds.
It gained its happiness.