The Boy in the Orchard

THE BOY in the ORCHARD I stand in the mist amidst an orchard where the scent Of ripening, withering, rotting fruits flows adrift in the chilling air around me. Visions come and go; dreams rise and fall back again into the subconscious. Dreams, hopes and plans appear, then vanish into the muddled memories Of all the people whose lives I have been fortunate enough in which to share, Or sorrowfully enough in which to be a small part... Some meaningful relationship, or some tragic experience, some wasted point in time; A compilation, a quagmire of sometimes muddy, sometimes bright and clear Hopes, dreams and experiences which I have shared with some who were once, For whatever reason, important in my existence, lie here on paper... lie anchored in my heart. A world of once young people: students; friends; relations; sons; grandchildren and acquaintances. Perhaps some were strangers who might (for a fleeting, flashing or flagging moment) Have affected my life in some way. As my mind’s eye fades along with my visions and memories, People who, at some time or other, drift into the veil of mist around me, Like ghostly fantasies which seldom speak above the faint, hollow echoes of years long past. Sometimes, however, there is, for a moment, a voice as clear as the church bell Which a beloved one and I heard in melodic tolling as we passed by on our way... Sometimes there is only a whisper of murmured words...away, Away in some far-off, distant land. As I gaze into the misty reveries of life as I have seen it, I search and wonder, “Did anything really matter to anyone? Did the experiences I think of really happen? Were they all phantoms on the edge of my life... On the periphery of my fevered mind?” Perhaps they were my life. Perhaps they never were at all. Far into the past, so very long ago... Still, I have not forgotten the image though, But the name was not for me to know. Some father’s son just sitting there A mother’s joy so young and fair A mysterious form in the misty air An image imprinted within my brain That neither wind, nor snow, nor rain, Although I try, but try in vain, Can fade the sylph that yet remains. Though the years have made my vision dim, I stand at my window and remember him. In summer, with vague expectation I walk among Trees of apple, peach, pear and plum, To see if he perhaps has come Back home to me like the prodigal son. The fruits are gathered, the leaves have blown, And, except for memories, he has forever gone. And so, through bare orchard, I walk alone. But memories seem to ever stay To haunt me...twilight, night, dawn and day. Though I have plead them go away... Yet, pray for the misty wind and rain To the orchard bring him back again. How strange not to remember when he first appeared. I do not remember who he was, but I can sometimes recall a name. Just a boy in an orchard someplace in time. But does it really matter he ever came, Since he never returned to sit beneath the red-apple tree? When I first saw him there, on a summer afternoon, His presence beckoned to me, and we stayed until the half-moon Was high in the twilight sky. The ripened fruits tasted sweet, as the juice of joy dripped from our lips. Apples, peaches, plums and pears... I wonder if I shall ever see him there When the warm summer breeze No longer plays among the trees And the cold, winter winds Have blown and tossed the autumn leaves Across the distant meadow. Through the cold, misty haze Of a morning in December, At my window, I stand and gaze, Then slowly I remember How he vanished in the dewy air If, indeed, he was ever truly there. When the blossoms of springtime Once again adorn the branches, Perhaps I shall see him beneath The white of apple, pear and plum, Or among the pink of the peach tree blooms, I will stand and gaze across the meadow With the fond hope that he will come. The complex tie of a shared joy Leaves a memory so very dear Of a young and fair orchard boy, Who came from somewhere, far or near, Then vanished into the twilight... Leaving only a memory in the dark of night, In the light of day, that haunts me through the years. Perhaps it was simply an empty wish... A narcissistic reflection in the mist. The prettiest marbles I’ve ever seen... Marbles of yellow and marbles of green, And I remember red, and purple and blue... And sometimes in the quiet of night, I remember him, too. How could I not remember the first day that we met? Some things, it seems we should never forget. We were the best and dearest of friends I do not remember what happened that caused it to end. But even today, there is an emptiness still... A space in my heart that nothing can fill. He scattered my marbles all over the ground. Sadly, I stood and watched them roll around, Then I picked them up slowly, after he had gone. The dust blew in my eyes as I watched him run on. When he was gone from my view, I wiped at my dusty tears ...And I hid my marbles and my heart away for years and years. We had played in the sand and we had played in the grass, While the sweet days of summer flew by us so fast. We ran like wild horses, and flew with false wings... We sang and we danced and we did secret things. Without words, we made vows that we really meant to keep, But tomorrow and yesterday never can meet. I sing and I dance and I play at life’s games And I have known many people, but remember few names. Both fortune and sorrow have been mine by chance. And love even gave me a fleeting glance. I seldom look forward, nor backward to us, But sometimes I see marbles rolling ‘round in the dust. What, except for death, can fade the sylvan form... Sometimes still, sometimes a storm. Sometimes I wish for the misty wind and rain... I hope and I hope, but I hope in vain... I hope and I wish him back again, Or see him forever gone to from where he came, And forever banished from my fevered brain. I dream of joy, and find it sweet, But lose it somewhere in my sleep, For when I awake it is always gone, And I find myself again alone. When I was young and still could fly, Sometimes angels would pass me by. They never stopped to say, “Hello.”. They only peered at my life below. Through many years, I’ve wondered why, As life so swiftly passed me by, They did not see me in my plight, As I floundered along in my own flight. Since I can no longer lift my wings... No longer hear the wild goose sing... Discontent and grounded I wait For joy that should have been my fate.