Here is the apple tree.
Perhaps you may recognise it as The Singing Ringing Tree of an earlier post. You would be right. It is the same tree.
Somebody brought the tree to me . After something Terrible had happened. I planted it. It grew. That was two or three years ago.
The person who bought the tree for me is still a friend in my heart. But is no longer in my life.
I will not tell the story of the tree buyer here, or of how we met, or of for how long we knew each other. I will not tell of who I was when we met , of who the tree buyer was, or of what times we lived through together; or of what I became, of what the tree buyer became, or of how the tree buyer and I fell apart. Really, it is not what you think.
The tree was brought for me after somebody had died. I planted it. At the time I thought that bringing the tree was a very kind thing to do. And then I forgot about it, and life went on.
This year the tree is bearing fruit. More so than in previous years. I want to hack the tree down.
I don’t want to hack the tree down.
Maybe one day I will look at the tree and feel nothing.
And think It’s Just A Tree.
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(postscript – some of you may recognise this post as a tinkered about with version of an earlier one. The earlier post was bothering me , I needed to play around with it. For days I thought about it. It turned into something of a writing exercise. That in itself fascinated me. That was unexpected. I’m not sure that it is really a blog post. It may be the beginnings of a short story,or of something else. I’ve been threatening to try and write one for a while now. Or maybe it’s just a notebook thang, I’m still not sure. Which means that I’ll probably go away and play with it some more…