Pam has been thinning the apple trees, bucket after bucket. Some for the horse that draws the Amish gardeners’ buggy, some for Tony’s pigs, some for the compost, but none — so far, at least — for Carley. Poor girl. And so she pauses in the orchard, taking a brief break from ball chasing to enjoy the shade while awaiting apples falling from the trees. Anticipation, as I so often remind her, is half the pleasure.
And she seems to agree. A patient girl. Chill. Chilling. In the shade. Beneath an apple tree. Laden with ripening fruit…
And it occurs to me that we’re all awaiting apples. Literal. Also pears, persimmons, plums, peaches,… An orchard full of P-fruit! We’re all awaiting literal apples AND figurative apples falling from trees.
You with me? Think Sir Isaac Newton. Think apples falling down. Not sideways. Not in loop de loops. Think gravity, yes, but also Eureka-big ideas. Ah-ha moments of insight and clarity.
Awaiting apples. Patiently. Because, well, half the pleasure. And… what other option?!
And — when waiting exceeds our patience — we too, like Carley get up, stretch our legs, and stop awaiting apples to fall. We move on to the next thing. For a while. To complete what must be completed. To sidestep a sneaking sense of disappointment, a worry that the ripened fruit might never fall, that we might be waiting patiently, fruitlessly, forever.
But tomorrow, if it doesn’t rain, Carley will return to the orchard, patient, hopeful, confidently awaiting apples.
What do you think?