The Planting

The Planting

How I came into possession of the sapling that I dug out a whole for near my fruitful orchards is a
mystery. Well not a mystery, I was given it by a friend, but its provenance, who knows.

I knew it was unusual, and I joked to my friend that it was probably “other-worldly” to which he
laughed and got into his car and drove off.

He said that just growing fruit was boring and I needed something else to do. Something different. 

And different it certainly was. It’s bark was purple and shiny, its leaves blue green and succulent,
and as I was to find out after I let it settle in for a few days with some eco frienly (of course)
peat substitute and a minor watering, it grew quickly.

For a year, unbothered by sun, rain, frost or snow, it made its way upwards, overlooked initially
by the pear and apple boughs but gradually growing to surpass their height by the end of year two.

In its third summer, some of the leaves gradually turned blue, then purple, and then boughs
drooped towards the ground, opening up like elongated lilypads, curling invitingly inwards
and waving in the breeze. They ended up with their pointed tips just touching the grass of the orchard.

Alas after that, the tree began to sicken, the bark grow cankers, the leaves yellowing at the
edges. I had no idea what to do.

My friend came to visit me, and berated me mildly saying that I had not looked after his gift properly.
Ok fine. 

But then he said it was no wonder my wife had left me for a younger man. This I could not
tolerate. You know I hadn’t thought about it in so long, and where she was, and where he was, I
had almost succeded in forgetting about it. They were out here, somewhere, buried and buried in
my memories, in this orchard, the orchard I had put my life into, the trees and fruit I had concentrated
on to the exclusion of all else, the apple tree where she was, the pear tree where he was, and
this, this fucker, was trying to bring it all back and make me think of people again, horrible, idiotic
love sucking people, ugh, well, I knew what I had to do, there and then, to make me well, to
make the tree well, to make everything well.

I punched his cunt face in the face, and shoved him into the vulva count of a leaf that was
beckoningly so invitingly for him, with all of my might. 

The leaf, more substantial than we could imagine, enfolded him like a lover, before crushing his
cunt body like a fist around a ping pong ball and absorbing all he was with great thirst.

Then the leaf rose from the ground, dripping, and as fast as a bird flies across the disc of the sun,
the tree began to heal.

And me with it. 

Copyright Bloody Mulberry 28.02.20