The winter wind whips at our hands and faces
The dull grey sky looms low overhead
But there's a reason why we are here
Something special is in the orchard, something beautiful
Something older than you and me but yet young and fiery.
We are not here for the fresh air or exercise
We've come to see the trees of the orchard
Stripped of their leaves and apples
But still standing strong with pride.
The only colour comes from the grass and the twining ivy
Covering the tree like a full head of shaggy hair
Daffodils bloom, butter cups twinkle
This dull place is teeming with life gearing up for spring.
Cold wind and grey sky
Misty distances and trees so high
But the orchard stays green as ever.
Apples missing, leaves missing
Cows and sun missing
The orchard has become dull
There was no cider being made
There were no apples being collected
Nothing.... Nothing...... nothing.
Orchard in Hibernation
From the sun and now the dullness
The tall green grass has turned to mud
Apples galore are now no more
Instead a few half eaten remains
No white sacks prop the blossoming trees
Now the bases of the trunks are bare
A horse in the field roams
As if the whole orchard belongs to him,
We are on his territory but he doesn't mind
We perch upon a fallen tree taken by the wind
Then we rumble down the steepest hill
To the metal base down below
Where we see several pheasants
Hanging from the roof
The orchard is in hibernation
It will come out some day soon.
The tree diary
Sept 23rd 2002
The apples are flocking off the trees
Like sheep in a field at feeding time.
All my growing, all my hard work
For nothing. The humans just take our apples,
With no respect. They don't listen
And it's too busy. Too busy.
March 3rd 2003
The trees are dull. The sky is dull
The orchard is dull.
No one has worked on us like they used to
I wish it was October when I was loved and known
As the biggest and best apple producer.
But now I am just a tree. Now I'm dull.
April 29th 2003
My pink blossom has grown
And overloaded out of my fingers
My beautiful blossom shimmers
In the new spring sky of many colours
As the orchard re grows.
The orchard is becoming alive again.
June 11th 2003
My blossom is now buds.
My buds will be apples
August 20th 2003
My apples will be cider
And once again I will be used
The good old days.
September 23rd 2003
What was I thinking
Looking forward to the cider season
It's horrible. Non stop apple picking
It seems apple picking has reared
Its hideous head again.
This is hell on earth.
March 3rd 2004
I miss the attention....
Ivy twists itself around the flying branches of the trees
The lush green ground littered with sun-bright flowers
Wind whistles around the grass singing its silent song
Auburn, brown, apples sit on the wavering grass
Trees branches twist and turn like they never end
A cockerel sings its good morning song
While a silent horse, chestnut, brown,
Moves slowly through the grass
Ears pricked and tail down-hanging.
The air piercing cold
No jumper of rainbow leaves for the trees
Rain drops gather on the petals of each and every flower
Twitters of the birds fill the air with joy
Remembering last year's summer.
The crooked tree
Laced with moss
Thick and moist
Covered with bark
Rotten and old
Overgrown with branches
Twisted and icy
Battered and bent
That old crooked tree.