Growing up, whenever I felt sad, angry or just wanted to be alone, I visited the huge apple tree in the far back corner of our small orchard. I would climb up and be hidden from the world. As an adult, I would always visit the tree, usually on the morning of the day I was driving or flying back to wherever I lived at that stage of my life. I took this picture on my last visit, not long after dad sold the place.
Limbs spread wide,
Easy to climb, recline, lose track of time,
Under the fruit laden dome.
The screen door slaps,
My Fathers’ voice floats through the twilight,
Singing me home.