Silhouette

it seems the whole world
rushes for the end of the day.

i stand at my window
in pajamas worn soft
long after stars pierce the sky
staring up at the Hill

and the solitary Willow
stooped in its bark
at the top.
lonely.

beside it sits the
silhouette
of its lovely Dryad.

often i go out to her,
perch on a gnarled branch,
and swing my legs.
listen.

she can be lonely, too
when dew adorns her river of hair
with nary a tree around
but her own.

she smiles when i pad up the Hill,
she is my only friend.