November 11, 2015. I don’t often return to West Texas where I grew up, but fragments of those years frequently come and find me, remind me there were perks in the midst of all the apparent desolation of dusty mesquite oilfields. Our Monahans backyard was one of a kind out there, a mini orchard of fruit trees — all long gone now, except in memory. One showed up in a recent dream, and an ode seems a fitting response.
This image is not the apple tree of the ode — but one of similar size and appeal from Wisconsin’s apple country, in 2004.