The tangled tree in the front yard can’t make up its mind.
Tree? Maybe not. More of a messy bush of branches that grows as wide as it does tall.
It’s cold today, blowing a gale southerly and raining in horizontal lines. Been this way all week. Southern Hemisphere winter is well and truly here.
But the tree bush? It doesn’t understand. Never did.
Three tiny pink flowers have blossomed overnight and huddle close to each other among the twiggy chaos and raw weather. The flowers won’t live long. Not in these conditions.
Last summer – for the first time in its life – the tree bush grew an apple. One single apple. It was a small piece of fruit (the size of a yo-yo) streaked with red and green like a honeycrisp or macintosh.
I waited several weeks for it grow bigger until I couldn’t any longer. Driven by an unrelenting curiosity, I ripped it from the branch and bit into it. Sour as hell. I spat its flesh out on the grass. What a poor excuse for an apple.
Yet I admire the tree bush’s fervent tenacity to change. It tries to be everything and, in turn, is never truly one thing. In spite of constant failure, it still bothers to try.
She’ll get it right one day.
*This is an old piece of writing made new in honor of my pretty new blog design and CHANGE.