Your birthday in the quiet days just after Christmas. The castle you wanted to visit that no one local had heard of, and, when we got there, it was early closing day. We sat in the cafe, wandered the grounds, both sick, our various ailments held at bay like the rain, always threatening to come down and fill the trees' expectant arms. Or at least I remember it that way and how we found a weeping willow tree, a green castle when we stepped inside. The shadowed light, the rough trunk just waiting to be caught in your embrace.