A Walk to the Orchards

Searching for an appropriate apple tree / Impressions of the walk

The other day you took me to the orchards. I visited the places where tall apple trees grow.

The apples have already been taken away from you. They have been stored for winter, stashed under the roof, hidden from the wind and the cold. You have remained on the meadow, still green, but without the red necklaces. You had been transforming the warmth and the light of this year's spring and summer into round, juicy flesh. Then the wind or man came and shook it off your branches. Thank you for this fruit, thank you for the feelings of hands filled, and the taste of joy in the mouth. Happiness overwhelms when I think of your fate. You grow and give. At the foothill you crown yourselves with the sky. How pleasant it is to step among you. Walk from one to the other. Seeing you standing lined up like this, I get filled with expectation. Are you coming or leaving? Where are you headed, what is your way?

We are now headed towards the autumn. Together. We share our fate on the same hill. If a single one falls, she's missing. Together we are an orchard.

Orchards are collonades with woven roofs. They are wonderful. You can seat around underneath them, or climb into the branches and eat off them. Joy grows in this place. Somewhere in this space, between the trunks and the tips of the highest twigs, festivity resides. You are the cathedrals of our meadows. In the spring, wreathed with the fragrance and colour of the blossoms. Expectation. In the autumn, adorned with the sweet weight and colour of the fruit. Fulfilment. And growth, throughout.