As a beautiful weeping willow tree that has grown along the banks of Lake Washington for hundreds of years, I’ve seen a lot of stuff. I don’t often weigh in on that stuff, but I do have a message for one particular person who has been hanging out around me for a while now.

Last summer, I saw you and your crush hiding from the noise of Seafair as you smoked a joint, giggling and lounging in my roots. I saw you swim naked beneath my umbrella of branches. 

In autumn, I gazed down at both of you making love in my yellow fallen leaves, bracing yourselves against my trunk, your fingers pressing hard against my bark. That was hot, and you can do that again this autumn, but please don’t stuff any more condom wrappers in my knot hole. That’s my bellybutton, you know.

No shame at all, believe me, but some of us would prefer that our orifices not be used as a dumpster. 

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