Thursday, 19 April 2012

My apple tree.

I love apple trees.

I've always wanted to have an apple tree in my back garden. In my mind's eyes I can see my tree, with its glossy green leaves, and big, red, juicy apples. I lie under my tree in my beautiful printed frock, sheltered from the bright sun in the corn blue summer sky. The gentle breeze moving through the dancing branches, shadows dancing on my face.

Back to reality. I don't really have a proper back garden. In fact calling it a garden is a teeny tiny stretch of anybody's imagination. I'm hoping to move house once The Husband gets a permanent job. The idea of leaving my precious apple tree behind is too difficult for me to even contemplate.

So it grows in the garden of my mind, where the skies are blue and the sun always shines; where I am always immaculately dressed in the poshest of frocks with no traces of  finger paints or tomato sauce anywhere in sight. My apple tree is eternal, it is beautiful, it is always there for me.

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