One of the delights of living in the country is seeing the beauty of old orchards in bloom. I almost take them for granted until I come across one more of many orchards uprooted and replaced with new dwarf trees or sometimes sadly with numerous 'cookie cutter' houses invading the lush, green space once pulsating with water sprinklers, buzzing with busy bees, and the happy chatter of workers in the subsequent seasons of thinning, picking and pruning.
Blossoms hanging in rich profusion.
A shady, old apple tree with stories to tell of seasons long past.
Gnarly old trunks and limbs stretching
in at least a 10 foot radius like uplifted arms in praise.
A modern, high density orchard
in the fading light of a May evening.
Dwarfed apple trees supported on wire trellises,
awaiting a heavy crop.
Pink and white, delicate and fragrant blossoms.
These blossoms offer hope for my favourite fruit. What will they yield? Ambrosia, Braeburn, Fuji, Gala, Honeycrisp, or Jonagold apples? I can hardly wait, but for this moment I will drink in the exquisiteness and scent of the blossoms.