First the new buds appear, even as the sun rises ever later. New growth, new grief. Slowly, slowly the buds develop, delicate, deep green and tiny. The year shifts, the early warmth comes and eventually each bud bursts forth into the five-petalled white beauty of spring blossom. Even as the parent tree is heavy with this spectacle, this vision of new life, the orchard is overwhelmed by death. A minute number of flowers maintain their grasp on the gently swaying boughs as almost every single precious bud is lost, dropped below.
Those that remain soon reveal yet more miracles, as they set their way into fruithood, almost imperceptible comes the change, a fundamental alteration in their individual being. Thus the glory of the tree’s young is clear to see, as these young spheres begin to swell.
Alas! Yet more agony for this mighty mother; she cannot bear the weight of so many young. Just as the summer sun is beginning the height of it’s nourishing strength so many more youthful promises drop and are lost.
The persistent ones still have many fraught months ahead of them, hungrily devouring all the nutrients they can to continue their gentle engorgement, before finally engaging on their final transformation. Splendidly their beauty is complete, as they modify their very skin to a brilliant sheen worthy of their name.