Alone in the garden
I stumble upon an apple tree
But this is no ordinary tree – no
It has been in the family for generations
This tree is strength, creation, protection, love…
The tree sighs heavy breaths as it inhales and exhales
The cool summer air.
I breathe in sync with her
Admiring her branches that are so long
And have touched and seen so many beautiful things…
I pluck a small ruby apple from her grasp
So soft, so fragile
I hold it in my hands as I would a child.
Beside me, an apple falls
Too heavy and grown to be held by its mother
It’s wrinkled, inhabited by worms and turning brown.
But it still has the warmth of life within its being.
I compare the two –
One so pure, so fresh,
New to this world and naive.
The other old, tortured, dying…
This tree, with its veins deeply rooted into
Into the truth,
She creates, nurtures, heals & speaks.
Breathes the air given to her with thankfulness
Knowing that her presence is a blessing a
And breathes life into those
That surround her.
She is of the dust –
we are all of the dust…
Like the withering apple,
Crippled, crumpled & crinkled beside me
Decay & disease destroying it
From the inside out,
Life comes and goes so quickly
We are born from dust,
And to dust we will return…