Ode to an Apple Tree

It's true I spend too much time lamenting, but it's sad to see you go.

Your blossoms are all freshness and joy. They are the assurance of pleasure and of hope. They bring to mind all that the future holds and the lovely renew of promise each year.

But as the wind blows your petals away, each one caught to the ground like so many pale stars in the green grass, I am reminded of the journey ahead of me. That hope often fades; resilience to life's great changes is the key to self-preservation. The sun continues to shine and the rain falls to erase your very existence; it will be alright. But it won't be the same. Over anything, the ability to pause, to capture, to press tightly to my chest this tiny moment in time, is what I want; also what I will never have. So instead I compromise, to sit beneath your branches, soak it all into my skin with a kind of mad obsession.

You'll be gone soon and it may be a long time before I see you again.