A pale hand clasp the tree trunk near the brook. When coming into closer view, anyone could make out Elizabeth beneath the tree’s leaves, her slender and graceful hand tracing the carvings within its base. Two letters, E. L., were strewn into the willow’s mighty trunk. As upon her face sat a melancholy frown, and sadness crept deep within her eyes, putting out their sparkle as if the embers of a fire are assuaged.
Slowly, Elizabeth let her body fall to the ground—slumping down with much sadness—into a kneeling position beneath the willow above her head. A breeze took through the air, racking its flowing spindles through the tree’s leaves, and through Elizabeth’s shining red tresses. She let her eyes close as the wind blew her hair away from her face.
Thoughts; memories; reminiscent through the unrelenting waves of her mind. Remembering days when she could sit beneath this tree, unafraid of the tangible fear and depravity of the world. What had gone wrong in her life? What had she done? These questions came to her mind as she silently drifted away into thoughts of a better time.
Two figures---dark and pale—stood beneath the willow, overlooking the river that flowed on its right side. As the two figures met, the wind picked up as if in greeting. Two single hands moved as one, as they came closer to each other, resting upon each tender palm; each beating heart beat as one. They were two forms of the same person. A living memory it seemed. Why did the two whom stood adjacent to the willow have such sad faces cast over their darkened visage? A graceful movement captured the eyes of the one viewing this memory, of her, and another. One of the figures moved closer, and then closer still, coming to rest at the still figure’s side, and gently taking--what was clear to be a female—her hand in his own.
Again the wind blew, reminding them of the reality ahead, and that escape was not to come easily; that they should expect the inevitable. To each his own, yet in some senses of the phrase, the sadness shown plain in the male figure’s eyes told truly that everyone sometimes needed another in order to make it through the life they were given. For some, this same determined altruism was life.
It was clear he was a clergyman, and in his formal ensemble. The other—a woman—aged as withered, not by time, but by the depravity and depression that had taken over her life.

-will keep on going later-