Sunday, 12 April 2009

• Memories of an Old Friend

  My little daughter just brought me the first plum blossoms.

  Aaaahhhh........there is no way to drink in enough of the sweetness of fresh blossoms.......there is nothing that says innocence quite like the first blossoms of springtime....the soft, delicate scent of warm spring days...

  I'm transported back to an old orchard....

  The trees are a dressed in their lacy pastel finery. 

  It is impossible to resist being drawn into the world beneath their gnarled branches. 

  One is a princess too, arrayed in the finest of organdy, tiptoeing , whirling, dancing through the grassy avenues between the trees , giddy with the warm fresh scent of blossoms.

  One becomes oblivious to the world outside this sun-dappled wonderland!

  One can look overhead and lose oneself in the pinks and whites against the blueness of the sky.

  One can sink down into the deep, soft, greenness of the tall orchard grass.

  The old orchard listens well and always keeps the secrets entrusted to it's depths.

  Many a young maiden has dreamed of  happy castles of  love, or sobbed out a broken heart within the privacy of an old orchard.

  Many a young man has climbed to the top of an old apple tree to conquer kings or ponder deeply the perplexities of  manhood .

  The old orchard is a happy place of childhood play, a quiet place of reflection, or a silent confidant of life's deep questions.

  An old orchard is a friend and happy is the one who has known such a friend.

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