In the sketch, the leaves rest delicately against each other, but the limbs of the tree arc and bend in painful obedience to years of wind and element and sun-reaching work. I wonder if our souls at the end of a long life look like the trunk and limbs of that tree did, worn and hardened by the demands of seeking nourishment, supporting growth and sun-reaching work? I wonder if young souls look light and delicate having never lost their ability to float?
Whatever the answer, it is a good thing to sit beneath the limbs of that apple tree tonight.