Apple Tree

I am admirer of the beauty of nature.

I walk country roads where I live nearly every day

And travel over an hour nearly every week

To an ocean trail that the hiker shares with deer and hawks,

As well as the ever-present seagulls.

Unlike my neighbors, I have no garden of any type.

No tomatoes, no green beans, not even flowers.

Wait, we do have some azaleas and stuff like that.

My wife, as you can tell, is in charge of the flowering plants.

I don’t lift a finger.

But I wait for one thing every Spring.

This is about the ornamental apple trees in my yard,

Whose tiny fruit feeds deer right at my house

All winter long.

I can see, even here from my window,

The beginning of some type of budding.

I check each of these early Spring mornings

For the hint of white, pinkish white and

Pink Blossoms

Which don’t last very long

And fall victim often earlier than should have

Because of wind and rain.

So I wait for the beauty and enjoy it for as long as I can.

Despite my self-inflicted feelings of guilt for having done

so little

To enjoy something so beautiful so much.