Down at the Heathcote River there stands a rather unremarkable willow. It’s one of many planted  along the streams and rivers flowing through Christchurch. It’s not  a very old tree, but it provides shade to ducks and occasional visiting geese and cormorants.

I pass the willow on my walks when I flee from my office desk to enjoy some greenery. It gently tilts toward the river, his thin leaves silver and green, flexible branches reaching for the stream beneath, like fingers trailing over a boat’s gunwale to feel the water’s gentle flow. Like me, this white willow bends but doesn’t break, its branches swaying with the Heathcote’s flow, a reminder that grace endures through time’s weathering.

In spring, little plushy pillows appear. Maikätzchen (May kitties) they are called in German. 

In autumn, the long leaves, like little silver waka, trail with the stream either with the outgoing tide towards the grand Pacific or – turning on the moon’s demand – towards my city. Unlike boats, they don’t need steering but drift with the peaceful flow of the river, easy and mellow.

It’s a white willow, not a weeping one, so it lacks much of his siblings spectacle, but it love its quiet elegance and grace. 

I noticed its distinct bark first presenting a stunning geometric pattern, setting it apart from his brethren. One day, supervised by a curious flock of fowl, I pressed a clay slab against its prettiest part, creating an impression that became one side of a big vase – for the other side I used branches and leaves of the same tree, glazing it with a cobalt wash to echo the Heathcote’s liquid beauty. 

Here is where you can visit the Willow by the Heathcote River