The Old Apple Tree

The Old Apple Tree

She sat by the old apple tree up on Black Creek hill, munching on an apple quite contently. Without a care, she quietly looked down on the marvellous and fascinating world below her. There she sat, all alone. But she was not lonely, for she had her apple tree — and he had she.

The sun struck her as she sat there. Its strong, summer rays warmed her face as his food warmed her tummy. The tree had been in full bloom this season, and his children were ripe and delicious. It was with great eagerness that he gave her his fruit. She had made a habit out of visiting him, of climbing his limbs and dozing off for a midsummer nap in his arms now and again. He couldn’t have asked for a better friend.

Of course, he would get cross occasionally when she accidentally trampled one of his saplings, but all was forgiven moments thereafter when she’d giggle and apologize. The love was unquestionably mutual, unconditional, and would have been everlasting.

She’d first found him when he was still young. Her family had moved to the area at the behest of her ailing grandmother; she needed them to help her survive, so her family made the tough decision to leave their comfortable familiarities and head to her Nona’s bedside.

While it was a sad time for her family, it was a happy time for her. She was too young to become absorbed by the maladies that had befallen her family. All she knew was that when the sun was high, the grass was green, and the wind was tame, he would hold her in his arms and life was perfect. Even in her youthful innocence, she somehow understood and capitalized on the notion that ignorance was bliss.

But love turned out to be the once-unseen worm.

One warmer autumn day, she decided to pay a visit to her old friend. Winter was coming, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to play any more. He’d have to go to sleep. For the entire day, she climbed and swung and ate. He nourished her, entertained her, and watched out for her. And she loved him for it.

As the sun set, she made her way home. Down the hill she skipped, stopping for but a moment to look back at the apple tree she so adored. But her happiness turned to sadness as her skip turned to a trudge.

An apple tree was not a boy.