..the apple tree.

..the apple tree
The little rise of a hill just before the entrance to our farm,seems large to my 5 year old eyes.Beyond it down the lane resides an apple tree.An apple tree that I dreamt would take me away,would protect me,shield me,hide me even from the chaotic life that exsisted between the 4 walls called “home”.I am running to the tree now,barely able to see for the tears flooding my eyes and stinging them.I run and run turning to see the “home” fading behind me,not realizing nor caring that the tree,my safety is less than 2 city blocks away from the home.
I am there I am relieved to be so,and damned determined to live out the rest of my days there.First things first – I push the tall grasses down and make a bed,then set about gathering as many apples as i think I will need to live on till I am old enough to get a job and move away from the farm….about 4 or 5 should do it.
I am safe for a time.The noise,the chaos,the anger that is neverending has subsided.I calm my breathing and seethe with an anger and resentment that only a 5 year old could muster up.The time is passing nicely,peacefully safe and sound at my apple tree.I peer out above the tops of my grass fortress,and take in the scenery.Fields of grain blowing softly in the breeze to the east,freshly cut alfalfa to the west.To the north,the security guard with the strap of leather resting casually in one hand comfortable and familiar from its constant yielding.The eyes scan the horizon for the dissident.I hold my breath and lay flat in the grass of my apple tree kingdom.
Hours and hours go by(3 minutes),before I feel safe to rise up and survey the area again.Surely it has been days now(it’s been 42 minutes).Surely the raging storm at the"house" has subsided.Only out of shear exhaustion and hunger do I take a deep breath and step out of my apple tree fortress to begin the long trek back to the farm and the life that even at a tender age I have become accustomed to.
I reach the crest of the hill and turn for a last glance at my apple tree in the distance.One last sweeping look at the beautiful wheat fields and lush green alfalfa fields.A deep breath a steady resolve, a clenched fist,and I step through the door a scared,angry,lonely little boy and dissapear never to visit my apple tree fortress again.

..the apple tree.

Robert Comish

Idaho Falls, United States

  • Artist

Artist's Description

A story I wrote just months after my head injury. I suspect it comes from a childhood memory – but why it popped into my damaged brain – I do not know.

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