Old, weathered, beaten, the golden apple tree stands in my backyard. Her leaves dance in the morning breeze like singing kites in the Easter sky. Grey clouds hustle across the clear blue but still the sun fights to make my world a place of vivid greens, yellows and splashes of pink.
The bougainvillea is a beacon of pink brightness. But are her petals really pinker today or is it that my senses are sharper?
Although my eyes keep reaching for the pink, not once does my mind wander from the crooked, curving old golden apple tree. This old tree has witnessed long ago memories that drown me in nostalgia. She has witnessed great East Indian storms, the bonding of souls and the breaking of bodies. So when I look at her I see my past swimming in her skin and limbs and leaves and fruit.
Sharing a quick moment with you while I’m on the go.