Magic Mirror Features Weeping Willows

The feature where I share a glimpse into my fiction — welcome to Magic Mirror! I pin all my Magic Mirror entries on Pinterest. Feel free to browse my collections. They are sorted by book title.

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Magic Mirror Presents: Weeping Willow // The Unicorn Girl

Photographer: Crossway Photography (I think).

There are two trees in particular that are my default when writing: weeping willows and oaks. The words themselves are both visually appealing and attractive when spoken aloud.

When I was writing The Unicorn Girl, the weeping willow attracted me for many reasons. I liked their feeling of motherly comfort with the branches reminiscent of arms or hair. Leah, having lost her mother and longing for one, often escapes to the one willow tree on her father’s property. There is one scene in particular when she is very upset and flees to the comfort and protection of the tree, hugging the trunk and letting the sweeping branches keep her from sight. The idea of the willow tree mimicking what a mother would do for her frightened, upset child was very appealing to me.

Excerpt from the book: Chapter 7 // The Death Caravan

I needed to be alone and think this out and the rose garden would suffice. I was sure Father would start looking for me when he had finished seeing his companions off.

I stepped  into the garden, walked over to the weeping willow and leaned my head against the rough trunk. I hadn’t even changed my position before I heard heavy footsteps thudding their way into the garden. I turned to face the opening in the walkway, my hand resting on the trunk, breathing steadily. Just as I had expected, Father burst through the opening and, seeing me, marched to the tree.

“Leah,” Father said, coming to a halt before me. “Explain.”

I had never seen him so angry before. His hands were clenched and his forehead was set in the deepest of frowns.

“I’m sorry,” I said truthfully.

“Sorry?” he said with mock sarcasm. “You have humiliated me in front of some of the  most important men in Torona. I have not raised you to behave like a crazed wild animal!”

“I didn’t mean  to!” I said. The weeping willow’s branches swished lightly between us.

“You  didn’t—”  Father repeated breathlessly. “If I hadn’t pulled you back you would have strangled William!”

I didn’t reply. How was I supposed to explain if he kept interrupting me?

“I hate to say this,” Father  continued, his voice full of bitterness,  “but I’m beginning to wonder if Miss Perish has been right all along? Really, why can’t you be more like Lydia?”