It was fear that held spring back,
fear that winter would return.
for the cold wind to give way
to the softer breezes of spring.
At first a few shy blossoms opened
then a few more.
Soon the old tree looked young and vibrant,
beautifully draped in pink and white petals
which would fall silently to the ground.
For a time the tree looked bare,
stripped back to rough bark.
fear steps in and the Gardener steps up.
There is fear in opening up and making myself so vulnerable.
Yet, I jump into the Everlasting Arms of springtime breezes.
the outer useless bits that I thought I needed.
and now richer fruits and deeper roots can grow.
Fear fades and fruit grows
on the old apple tree.
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”