I Must Walk Through the Orchard

I must walk through the orchard every day.

The blooms are beginning to come, and lest I miss any of them, I must walk through the orchard every day.

At least one time, around the back, and back up around the front.

Nearly a thousand trees to peruse, and at least that many blossoms per tree.

I dare not miss e'en one this year, for this year is all I have.

I have it now, so now I must enjoy them, and I must not miss a thing.

Their branches bent and pruned, they still put forth a show.

While time may take a funny shape, the fruit will still be sweet.

I have not known these trees for long, but to be acquainted now, today, is all I ask.

It's just one row a-blooming now, with two or three beside the row at the bottom.

I overlook the hill as whole, and wonder how they'll look--

All those trees dressed in their whites and pinks, when bees come buzzing 'round.

All the looking is not lost, for among the beauty I learn, and take a precious jewel to my mind:

It's how to focus close, on just the bloom I wish, and snap a photo with my phone.

And with this little piece of wisdom in my pocket, I can take you walking with me any day you wish.

I take a portrait more or two, and realize with delight, I am next my own back yard, 

branches reaching  to the other side, where friends bloom on my side just like they do on orchard side.

If I hadn't walked through the orchard today, determined beauty-gleaner, I'd have missed it in my yard.

I may not see a fruit come from bloom to ripe.

I may not smell the freshness or take the glowing bounty for purchase into my kitchen.

But still I will not miss the flower blooming today.

I do not cut or prune or bring bouquets to my table.

I do not pluck the beauty, and ruin the fruit I will not get to see.

But I capture them for memory's sake, grateful I have them for even one spring.

I'm through counting hyacinths poking out of the ground.

As I walk back to the house, I simply breathe deeply of now, their scent wafting in the breeze.

I snap their photo, get in close, marvel at the many shades of pink in one tiny bloom.

 

I touch them, and promise to take them with me if I should have to go,

and if in the taking I will not take their lives.

For the only thing worse than leaving them behind, I've decided, is trying to take them, and having them die.

I glance through the newly cleared path to the orchard.

I must take it every day, duck through the vines, and emerge,

ready for blooms and beauty and gleaning, as closely as I can watching 

while time and temperatures bring a glow that I must not leave without seeing.