Strange Fruit

There’s a tree in my garden that has for years been unloved and unattended, it was gifted by a friend Angela, maybe ten years ago, it’s spent its time squashed into a pot, which despite being large is insufficient  to give the roots space to grow. That tree despite being unloved soldiered on year after year, each summer it has given a small number of fruits, i don’t know what they are, it’s not a native Britsh tree, the fruit is yellowish and similar to an apricot in size and colour, feeling brave one year i tasted the fruit it was delicious a little like persimmon.

The poor tree as i said was never cared for too well, it bravely carried on in its strictured base, until last year when, with dry weather and lack of water it finally gave up its efforts and died, the last leaves turned brown and fell away in the early summer, since then branches have rotted and broken off, a few  bare branches remained. And so that is how i have left it, a dead tree in a neglected garden, my mind elsewhere on thoughts i found  more consuming.

The tree, or rather what was the tree is outside my back door, from time to time I stand at my kitchen window and see it there, I sometimes look at it and think I should uproot it and dump the remains, but like other little tasks I have put it off.

Today is the first of March, spring is around the corner and the wheel of the seasons in turning. As I looked out of my window today I look at that little tree which struggled to hold onto life and then gave up, two small pale green leaves have begun to grow from the branches.

The message strikes profoundly, everything dies, it is the only truth, but life always finds a way of creating itself over, I realise that an ending  is followed by a new beginning, with some help from the sun I am looking forward to tasting the fruits of summer.

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