The weeping willow got its name from the way the branches hang down, limp, almost as if it has given up on life, defeated. I have never understood that. To me the weeping willow is a special tree, a happy memory from my childhood. It never seemed sad to me at all, just content. Its branches hanging down and swaying lazily in the breeze. While other trees stretch and reach for the sky, always wanting more out of life, the weeping willow is content with where it is and happy just to relax and exist. It's branches reaching down to gently brush against the children that play there, as if shade and watching over the games were its most important purposes.