The Fruit Tree

What’s to follow is my experiences with being “loved”. If you don’t have space for that , that’s ok. I share because it always reaches someone. Because sometimes I just need to share. Because we never know who we will change or affect. So, I wrote this story this morning, in my mind, while having coffee so that I could process things, because I’m transitioning and growing and learning things about myself.

THE FRUIT TREE-

He chose her in a 1 gallon container from the nursery. There was a plastic stake in the pot- APRICOT- read the label. His favorite. So he took her home, planted her in the best spot in the yard. She stretched her roots, drank the moisture in the soil, reached for the sun. But could not yet bear fruit.

So, he nurtured her, protected her from harsh winter weather, covered her so she wouldn’t freeze. He fed her nutrients on days when there weren’t enough and watched leaves sprout at the ends of tiny branches. But she grew, a year went by, then two. She got her first fruit. He plucked it and took a bite. The juice ran down his chin. He felt proud, happy even, fully satisfied. His work, his labor has born what was his desire.

Another year, she grew taller. Her branches grew in circumference, more leaves, more fruit. He harvests from her. She is thriving, stretched out in the soil and sun. Until one day, he doesn’t want the…