I often come to this weeping willow to remember my great grandfather. We all called him Gramps. He told me this particular tree represents hope and safety. I feel a little guilty about carving words into it. But I think an inscription is a good locator.
Gramps died a week after his one hundred and twenty-second birthday, back in 2098. He was agitated on his deathbed. Cranky as hell, really. Not…
