today

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For the last two years, when I pass this tree on the Humber River, I put my hand on it to express solidarity with it in age and spirit. My admiration is more urgent this year because there's no fruit, the charcoal limbs are knobbly-arthritic, and the leaf cover is thin like a bad comb-over. Two days ago, I put my arms around it and hugged it proper.
 
It's part of a ghost orchard — five trees from an orchard planted in the 19th century. They are wild now and produce green apples the size and consistency of a jawbreaker. Before they hit the ground there are copper blemishes marking insect feasts. Starting in late August, the scent of fermentation is in the air.  
 
I might see this tree pass. I don't know the tree plan for parkland in the west end. I bet it's safe and economical. Why can't we establish orchards in city parks? 
 
I went on a Saturday outing to Ben Nobleman Park Community Orchard. It's right across from Eglinton West station. Volunteers care for it. There's a beautiful pollinator garden, too. I strolled back downtown along the Cedervale Ravine. 

​​My love of orchards goes back to my Niagara childhood.

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"It was more powerful than I had imagined finding Frost's last orchard still thriving…All praise and all miracle...The poet may die, but the poetry continues."
 
A passage from Helen Humphrey's The Ghost Orchard about the thrill of standing in Robert Frost's orchard at his Ripton, Vermont writing cabin.
 
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You can't imagine the talks I've heard on addiction in nearly 30 years of recovery. None have expressed more compassion than this talk from Tara Brach. She expresses humanity beautifully. 
 
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I like the way these songs sound together. Adrianne Lenker is something.

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