My grandchildren fondly call me Lala. When I die, I will be the Lala tree, a place of solace.
I’ve been planning the disposition of my body. I contemplated being zipped into a mushroom suit lined with spores, decomposing in the ocean. Alas, only wetsuit owners could visit.
I’d prefer combining my ashes with soil and mourners planting a weeping willow into the mixture.
When children are woeful, I’ll weep with them. My abundantly watery bark will wash away their tears. Climbing my limbs, feather-veined leaves will hide them. Temporarily, they’ll escape life’s cruelties.
Their hearts mended, though dead, I’ll replenish.
Such a nice thought. And well written to boot!
Indeed, this is a sweet one (the idea, and the execution). Good story.
What unique and lovely thoughts well expressed. Charming!