Where exactly can I begin? I don’t really know. To be perfectly I can't tell when, specifically, I “began”. It’s been such a long time since I can remember “beginning” anything... at all. And forgive the cliche, philosophical pondering, but what do I mean by "begin" anyway? Is it to start fresh and unscathed; a blank hide untouched by the world? Or is it to step back all the way to the creation of time? It’s been so l “beginning”.
My very first memory is of the sunrise. I loved it at first, it was like a magnificent palette of oranges, reds, and yellows prepared to paint the sky as the sun awoke. Creating a portrait of a new day with new things to see and do. Well, at least for those who aren't tethered to the ground they were born on. There's something about not being able to move that wears away at your morale. I guess when you see the same thing almost everyday for your entire life without even the slightest opportunity to change it, you become desensitized. As much as I hate to say it, the sunrise has become one of my least favourite things on earth. Granted these are emotions and opinions that have been tunnelling through my mind for over fifty years, they never seem to fade. In the end, I guess it all seems like a slap in the face to what I was, to what I am. Unable to move from my perch on the hill.
I sat alone for most of my childhood. On the odd occasion a stallion with a kind face and a voice as smooth as linen would come and watch me for a short time. He would speak to me, seeming to understand how I felt about my insecurity. I was small and meek in a world of the large and monstrous; a tiny pebble amongst monolithic mountains. He brought along what I could only assume was his daughter. She was young and easily distracted by the butterflies and warblers that swooped by, but there were moments where she would sit and watch me.
I found myself very fond of this girl. Much like her father she seemed to understand me. She would talk to me, soothe my worried mind and let me know I had a purpose, and that even couldn't move I was destined for something great.
As a child the years had little effect on me... in fact time in general did not as well. I had and still have no use for it. I've never had anywhere to go, never had anyone to see.
The farmer and his daughter did though.
Every morning, before the sun peeked over the horizon, I would see them leave their house. The girl dragging her hooves in the dirt, still half asleep. She had grown much older, stronger too. Instead of being something to ease the painful silence that plagued the orchard, she was now working. It seemed to be stressful for her, so much responsibility to carry on her shoulders. But she did it with her head held high and a spring in her gallop. Each tree she planted, each fruit she picked was given its own special care. It made me slightly jealous to see her attention focused upon them instead of me. But whenever she grew tired or hot underneath the sweltering country sun, she always returned.
I think I loved her.
She talked to me as if I were one of her own; stroked my chest and rested against my feet. I was growing stronger, taller and much like her, more useful than before. I could provide something other than just shade or compliments to the scenery. She would pick the fruit from my limbs and share them with no other. Unlike the other trees, I developed much faster and taller with more bountiful crops than any two trees combined. My gifts to her family were not picked by all though. I was exclusive. I was important. Only the farmer’s daughter ate what I made while she rested underneath my strong bows. I had plenty enough for her to pick and sell, but she never did. Instead she saved me for herself. I think I loved her.
One summer when we were both teenagers, she introduced me to a small scruffy animal. My memories faintly recall the name “Winona,” or something like that. It was a loud obnoxious thing, biting at my heels and scratching at my skin. I stood tall though; I didn’t want the girl to know that it hurt me. The dog ran off after some crows and she laughed by my side as it bounded through the field. She looked up at me and stared for what must have been several moments. I wish I could stay there forever, with her standing awestruck below me. But the yapping of the “Winona”, as she called it, broke the spell and she disappeared.
If I remember correctly, she had an older brother and a younger sister. They didn’t pay attention to me, but on the odd occasion they too would sit at my feet and rest. Nopony but her touched my fruit, they were strictly for her and her alone.
Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. We were both growing older; she must have been at least seventeen by then, give or take a few years. Things were relatively uneventful. Every afternoon, as if by ritual, she would climb the hill and sit below me. I would present my best fruit to her, and she would accept it with all the gratitude in the world. We would sit together until the sun finally petered out and the cool night air soothed our burning skin. She would stay until sleep started to tug at her eyelids and the breeze became too frigid for comfort. As her wishes of, “sweet dreams,” danced in my mind, she’d leave me to my kin and my thoughts late in the night.
One day she did not come. I was worried. She always came no matter what; rain, snow, sleet or shine. If I could, I would have left that hill and searched for her. I would have uprooted everything I knew to see if she was safe. The sun’s heat became almost unbearable without her, and my mind plunged into thoughts I had not ventured through before. Loneliness and despair set in as a week went by without so much as a glance of her orange, sun baked pelt. I was beginning to give up hope when one particular sleepless night I heard a gentle wail.
It was eerie, like the sound of the wind blowing through my naked branches in the middle of winter. I had not heard this sound before, and I felt fear for the first time in my life listening to it. My mind was racing and my eyes were screwed shut in hopes that whatever tortured soul was making such a sound would pass me by. However, the cries grew louder up until I felt a familiar body lay itself against my feet.
It was the girl. However, water was streaming down her soft face in shimmering lines. I was confused as to what exactly this curious action was, but I remained silent. Something was nagging at the back of my mind. Despite the fact she was finally back, she was not happy about it like me. For the first time she slept at my base for the entire night. I stood guard over the one I cherished, gallantly protecting her from the monsters of the night. I tried to stay awake but the addicting narcotic, sleep, eventually took hold.
When I awoke she was no longer against my base. I panicked for a moment, but calmed myself when I noticed she was sitting, facing the sun, on the crest of the hill. Beside her was a jar filled with dirt or sand and on her head was the hat her father used to wear. She sat like that for an hour, just watching the sunrise and the wind play with the leaves. All of the sudden, she turned to the jar and placed a single kiss on its glossy finish. I did not understand her kind, their sentiments towards something so arbitrary. It was only when she removed the lid and released its contents, that I now know were ashes, that I realized she was mourning. Her head sank towards the ground and the hat slipped from her head. I could not see her face, but I assumed the water from her eyes was flowing again. The light brown soil slowly became stained with her sadness.
It took a while before things turned back to normal. I comforted her the best I could, and even when things seemed the most regular she would occasionally break down and cry. She would spend hours at my feet, weeping over that brown felt hat. One night in particular, a month after her return, I caught her singing a song. It was a simple tune, something I never really understood. However, I recognized it from before, from when her father and her used to visit me when we were both children.
You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine.
You make me happy,
when skies are grey.
Lord only knows dear,
how much I love you.
Please don’t take,
my sunshine away.
******
The girl was much older now, and she had new friends other than me. Her work on the farm took much more time, and slowly but surely we drifted apart. Our afternoons no longer lasted as long, and sometimes they were non-existent. I could see her off in the fields closer to town playing with five of her kind.
I missed her. I don’t think I ever felt more broken hearted. But at the same time I was glad to see her happy again. The joy on her face reassured me that just being there for her when she was feeling so alone had done the trick. If it meant that we were not going to spend as much time together, then so be it. I’d rather her be happy. I loved her that much.
Years no longer seemed so long anymore. I spent most of my time alone, and she would tend to the orchard. Every so often she might drop by and rest against me, but even those moments became a rarity. The wind and cold air wreaked havoc with my joints, and each passing season sent new chills and pains running through my spine. The warmth that she had planted in my heart was beginning to recede, and my lonesome mind wandered upon a highway of despair. Slowly but surely our afternoon visits ceased and I was alone.
My heart’s fate was sealed the day I saw her entire family plus another stallion move out of the farm. She hung from his arm like a flower basket on a porch, and I swallowed my pride. The farmer’s daughter had found another. Unlike me though, he could provide for her. He was not tethered to this earth by the cruel entity of life. With him, she could travel the world and see its many sights. With me she would be trapped in a past life, stuck in an uneventful life. It would not be fair for her to suffer for the sake of me being happy, and I let her go.
I sat and watched the empty farmstead as the trees in the orchard around me withered away and died. The grass on the hill grew wild, and my roots seemed permanently locked in confrontation with invasive dandelions. The seasons passed by like a blur, disappearing like the memories of her in my mind. Many nights I lay awake, wondering if she would ever come back. But the cold nip of frost and the sun’s mocking nature were the only comforts I was graced with.
My life no longer had meaning. The fruit I grew was not picked. The shade I provided was not lounged in. My strong base did not support the back of anybody, and my heart was left unattended too. I accepted my fate with loss of my battered dreams, and as I fell asleep each night the long ago words of my love rebounded off the claustrophobic walls of my mind.
“Don’t you worry now. You might be small today, but someday you’ll be great.”
There were some nights where the soft tone of her voice seemed to float on the breeze. I often wondered if she was returning, or maybe even just visiting. The only time I heard it was late at night, when the world was safely tucked into bed and my sleepless mind played tricks on me. The first time it was just her voice, barely audible over the deafening silence of night. Each time it grew stronger as if it were getting closer, until one early morning I could have sworn I saw a light on in her abandoned home.
My insomnia continued to taunt my loneliness, sometimes even creating apparitions of my departed friend. Looking back on those nights I find it hard to recall if they were actually her, or just a deceptive dream. It made no difference though, not once did whatever that was come up and say hello. She just sat at the edge of the farm’s fence, and watched over what was once hers.
******
Her face was old and wrinkled, her ears no longer perky and straight. Her hips shook from the pain of arthritis; I assumed that was the product of so many years spent bucking apple trees. Her eyes were sunken and sad, and her pelt was dull and no longer contained the shimmer I remembered so many years ago. Each step seemed to be an entirely new struggle on its own. But her face was still soft and kind, her voice was still soothing and comforting when she spoke to me. She rested her old frail body against my feet, like she had done so many years ago.
At first she slept in the farmhouse. She was alone from what I could tell. There was only ever one light on in the windows at a time. It must have been unbearably lonely for her, something that I can contend with, because she started sleeping outside with me one night.
It felt good for her to be back with me after so many years. I had been happy that she had found another family, but deep down I wished more than anything for her to return. She sat with me and we watched the sunset each night and the sunrise each morning. My heart and mind filled with the joy of the times long passed.
While I was glad she was finally back with me, I knew it wouldn’t be for long. It wasn’t healthy or safe for her to sleep outside at her age, but something told me she stopped caring about things like that long ago. We sat together and remembered when we were just children, young and new to the world. She talked to me about her family. How she had a daughter living in Manehattan who owned the biggest farming company in Equestria. She talked to me about the day her father died and how I had helped her come to terms with life. The tale of something called her “Cutie Mark” was pure with nostalgia and each word held its own emotion. She laughed at the recollection of Winona, and she cried when the last night she spent with the animal galled her memories. She sang me the song her father taught her, and handed to me every scrap of affection he had conveyed to her. With every passing tale she recalled our life together and when that ran out, the moments I had missed. Each day was a new struggle for her, it seemed like the grim reaper’s scythe was poised above her head like a judge’s gavel. It felt as if she was painfully counting the days until her rapture came.
It finally arrived early one summer morning. I had woken up hours before her so we could watch the sunrise together, but something about her still form suggested otherwise. I sat with her as the realization of loss shrouded my mind. I was angry at first; mad that such a gentle being could be taken from me. However, slowly but surely I realized it was for the best. Her tormented body was no longer fit for such a pure and loving soul, and she is at peace.
She sits below me now as I speak. My thick bushy bows providing shade for her like they did so many years ago. Fruit grows, waiting, just incase she is ever hungry, and my strong burly trunk provides a place for her to rest. I miss her everyday. I do not know when I will see my love again. Whether it’ll be tomorrow, or a thousand years from now. But I don’t wish for that day to come any sooner than it should. I would rather suffer the pains of cold air against the scars on my hide and stand tall, protecting her memory. The other trees have fallen to nature, but I continue to go forth. The sound of her voice and what she said the night before her departure keeps me breathing.
“You might just be a silly old apple tree, but to me you’re family.”
