Stumps

My life is like an overgrown orchard.

I try to curate my friendships

To find like-minded spirits

To find bosom friends

To find people like me.

But the trees grow when and where they may,

As people step into my sphere, my orbit,

And the fruit of friends ripens when I least expect it

And it is delicious.

I don’t control my overgrown orchard, but

I do take care of the trees.

But the stumps.

But the stumps.

Where a life was cut short

Before I was ready to let the tree go

Before I was done eating the fruit

And now there are shadows on the orchard floor

Where fruit never ripens and falls

And it’s in those deserts between the trees

That I watch the orchard blossom or rot

That I watch the seasons come and go

And the sun shine through the leaves

In warm golds and cold silvers,

All while I sit on the stump of a friend.