Fragments Gallery
The Orchard
Coming back here after so long seems odd. I'm walking the same paths I used to tread but everything is different. I'm walking amidst the trees in the old orchard; the light is fading rapidly. The shifting shadows draw fantastic shapes across the hard earth. Insects sing from all around, their music breaks through the wind. I find the tune soothing.
I turn down a row of trees that I haven't walked in many years; all of the old trees are still there. Still it seems different. It's not as though I stepped back in time however. It is certainly not the row as I remember; instead of appearing pristine the trees now look gnarled it makes the row appear more crooked. Now that I've noticed that I look around the orchard again with new eyes. Everywhere I look I sense a hint of abandonment. Weeds that I have been unthinkingly crushing underfoot sprout everywhere; the well maintained lanes I remember truly do not exist. I guess that as time goes on less and less work is done to keep it tame.
The next lane down used to lead all the way through the trees and out of the orchard but now the once well-tended lane turns into a snarl of branches and bushes halfway down. Staring down towards that tangle of vegetation I wonder; how could the owners have let this go this far? I look towards the old house at the edge of the orchard and note once again the absence of light from it. That house, once belonging to my family and now belonging to the friends who now owned the orchard, was ancient and full of memories for me. I’d grown up there; grown up amidst these gentle trees and seeing the orchard in this state tore at my heart.
Normally I would have stopped in to visit my friends before venturing into the orchard but today I had arrived late without calling ahead. Besides they have always told me that I don't need their permission to visit the orchard, they tell me to come anytime I like.
A nagging suspicion hovered at the edge of my mind as I stared at that dark house. Maybe my friends no longer live here; could they have left? Wouldn’t I have heard if they were leaving? It has been many years since I last returned, but I have trouble believing that they could have abandoned this place. And yet abandoned it seems to be.
I backtrack to the wrought iron orchard gates and walk up the narrow path to the house. The building is dark; through the front windows I can’t see any hint of reflected light from within. I knock on the ornate front door, my fist connecting solidly with the weathered wood. With a shrill creak the door opens at my knock; the handle hadn't latched when last it was closed.
In the darkness the familiar interior seems ominous.
"Hullo," I call out, "Anyone home?"
My voice echoes eerily from the depths of the house. I hesitate on the threshold but eventually my worry wins out. I step into the house and as always I get caught up in my own memories of the place. This was where I'd grown up; every time I entered my thoughts were swept away along those passages of time. Today I didn't reminisce; instead I steadily walked through the house from one corner to the other.
I found no one; neither did I find any recent traces of human habitation. However I did find signs that animals had moved in.
I returned to the front door at a loss; what could have happened here? Did they move away without selling the place? Did something happen to them?
Would I ever find out?
I’m not sure.
I sit down on the front steps and stare out into the cold orchard. This has always been a place for me to come and reminisce, but what is it for me today? What will it be tomorrow?
I don’t know, and in some ways I fear finding out.