We have two fruit trees in our garden. Both were bought as homage to the coming summer, many years ago. Both ought to bear exotic fruits that do not grow on these shores. Both should have been kept indoors.
Being me, I placed them outside. I believed that that was where trees deserved to be. I had a slight faith that the summers would come and encourage them into blossom. I hoped that they could find a new home in our garden. I left them to be.
A sort of summer has arrived. It is one of those four-day affairs that we English so much look forward to, yet rarely see. It was an equally unusual splash of warmth and sun that straddled a long weekend. After such a never-ending winter, relief was upon us. The garden became busy with ourselves. The ritual of cutting grass took place along with a raising of our new family-tent. We even breakfasted on the lawn this morning and all was well with the world.
I was perusing the plants on our patio when I noticed the fruit-trees. They have been denuded of the promise of fruit and raised their spiked branches towards the sky in an arboreal supplication. Their gift of fruition has been taken away and their response was to protect what little they had left.
Perhaps, they dream of warmer climates or just of being indoors.
Perhaps, there are some things that need to be where they belong so that they can flourish rather than harden and slowly die.