The Apple Tree

Shaded by the blossom tree in Autumn. An Autumn Day, so full of promise of a new season.

Fresh wind, the sweet smell of orange blossom. Shading my eyes, I blink and swing from one branch to the next in my heroic attempt to catch the next falling leaf.

Impossible doesn’t exist. Love is what we resist. The orchard is wise. So I ask her;

What can I be, could I be, if I set myself free? The orchard knows, I’d be the apple tree, abundant and free, devoid of lies, a beautiful surprise, exposed, unafraid, jubilant in the shedding of my disguise.