What my peach tree told me

I had planted three dwarf fruit trees in my front garden. Neglect had allowed a shoot to escape from beneath the graft.  It shot up boldly towards the sky. I looked at it, really too late in the season for pruning, and thought perhaps I would actually like a taller tree there.  I left it to grow.  The following summer, it produced a modest tasty crop of yellow clingstone peaches that were great for cooking.

It is spring again now, and my view out the living room window is the blossom on my wilful peach tree.  It is bold blossom. Big single pink cups with a dark heart. Sparse on the tree, but more determined to resist a puff of wind than the pretty white stuff on the nearby plumcot. It fills my window beautifully, framed by leadlight.  It brings spring into my house.

Sitting here enjoying my blossom, it reminds me of the value of not overplanning, of not jumping in to intervene, of letting things run their own course. The thing that unfolds as I observe thoughtfully can be better than what I had planned.

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