Dust to Dust

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 wide

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

Any longer.

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 

Nature

Into the truth,

Creates life.

She creates, nurtures, heals & speaks.

Breathes the air given to her with thankfulness

Knowing that her presence is a blessing

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…