Today I bit into a ripe yellow pear...and was carried to an old orchard. An overgrown orchard with long grass and gnarled trees bent low with the weight of the fruit they bear; apples, pears,and plums, lots of varieties of each.
Under the trees the air is cool and fragrant; a delight for the senses. The mountain breeze laden with fruity pleasures and the buzz of yellow jackets and honeybees.
In the old orchard one could be anything or anyone their imaginations could think up. A queen, a pioneer, an orphan child, a mother of 22 children, a pretty maiden with dozens of suitors vying for a chance to stroll with her 'neath the privacy of the old trees. One could have tree-climbing races, build houses, sit back against the trunk and dangle your feet and read or dream hidden by the leafy branches. And always there was a tangy, crunchy apple or a sweet, dripping pear for a snack whenever your mouth desired.
The birds sang back and forth to each other and Mt. Hood stood sentinel above it all. It was a magical place!
Yes, the old orchard brought lots of long hours of work ,gathering the fruit and putting it up for winter,but nothing could dim the treasure held within its shady recesses. And those are the memories that linger with such sweetness ready to burst forth in poignant reality at the first juicy bite of a ripe yellow pear!
Aaahh, one never knows when they may be handed an orchid in the middle of a busy day