N a shallow bowl dug out of a Worcestershire hillside stands a small forest of willow: tall, slender withies shade from pale green to russet tips, yellow to chestnut, sage to purple, rustling and sighing in the winter breeze. Half the beds have been harvested and a blonde figure in boots and waterproofs is bent over, sorting the bundles before tying two fine rods of willow around each
Bury me in a willow-shaped coffin
Oct 02, 2024
3 minutes
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