The Orange Tree

By Krishanali Merchant

In the backyard of my childhood home, stood an orange tree, which

seemed to be the only beacon of life in our small humble yard. This

tree with its twisted stem and branching crown was a friend in the

year, a source of comfort and pleasure

During spring, the tree would produce tiny white flowers that would

give it a beautiful appearance. Their aroma pervaded the atmosphere

and combined with the smell of the soil and plants in the garden.

Flowers swarmed with bees, which busily flapped their wings; the

sound was like the voice of life working. The blossoms soon turned

into little green balls, each containing the potential of the sweet

fruits that would be produced.

Summer was the tree’s best season. The green orbs matured and

became darker in color and more luminous, changing to an orange

hue. The branches laden with the fruits bent gracefully over their

load. During the hot and sultry afternoons I would spend my time in

the tree shade and the sunrays would dance on my body through the

leaves. I would stretch my hand and pick an orange, rub its surface,

which was smooth but had a little roughness to the palm of my hand

before slicing it to get the juicy and slightly sour pulp inside.

Autumn, on the other hand, was a different story as it had its own

kind of beauty. The trees were aflame with the richest of golden

hues, and the final remnants of oranges remained on the trees. The

wind became chilly, and the tree remained strong, unyielding, and

majestic, a symbol of the seasons and time. The leaves had fallen

and formed a carpet, a playground that was full of childhood

memories and adventures.

It was a tree that seemed to defy the harshness of the seasons, even

when it was stripped of its leaves and the branches were bare against

the cold sky, it was a reminder that life goes on. It was the promise

of a new beginning, of flowers and trees that would bear fruits

again. This orange tree was not just an ordinary tree to me; it was a

part of my childhood, a companion in the ever revolving cycle of

nature.

By Krishanali Merchant