The Wildling

Nature is always throwing up surprises, and a mature apple tree was one such lovely surprise find. Found as it was amongst the more familiar oaks and willows ( and telegraph poles)  of the marsh.

The thick, gnarled trunk  reached up over 30ft high. Supporting a sweeping curtain, of gracefully bowed branches offering up their bounty of fruit.

Into the 'Apple Grotto' beneath the tree we walked. The floor was thick with fermenting windfalls, yielding with a soft crunch underfoot.

The fruit gave no clue as to its identity. It was a jumble of reds and greens, little and large and pitted and smooth fruit. Every one crisp and juicy with just enough tart 'real apple' taste, to make them a delight to eat.

We pondered its origins, a lone apple tree all out of place on the edge of a marsh. Was it planted there as a young tree, or had it survived against all the odds, growing from a pip, from a once discarded apple. A Wildling.

I much prefer the latter, and as we left we thanked the tree for its fruit, promising to return in spring to see it dressed in fragrant blossom.

                                     
                                          The ones that got away.