By Reina Free
It is the first week of June, a glorious day. Although it is still early it is already warm with the sun rising over the nature reserve.
A few weeks ago I feasted my eyes on the extravagant beauty of the cherry trees along Kings Lane. I counted eight in the field of the Browns, six along the wood and hedgerow and one in the sharp bend. I spotted two more in the wood I call Big Narnia and even more across the field in Badgers Wood.
I wondered where all these cherry trees come from, although of course years ago Buckinghamshire was the county of cherry tree orchards.
However the ones along Kings Lane must have come from pips dropped naturally by blackbirds and thrushes.
Quite close to my house, Kings Ransom, are three more cherry trees. Two are healthy and have an abundance of blossom. The third one is almost dying having the very life strangled out of it by clinging ivy.
And yet among the brittle dead branches are a few quite frail ones still carrying baby cherries which later on, when ripe, will feed hungry birds and the ones they drop will be picked up in the dark of night by fox and badger.
In this small story is hidden a kind of parable which for me has a special meaning all of its own. It’s personal. The reader can find his or her own explanation. However, in our busy daily lives, it is good to take time to think and ponder and not take on board the opinions of others who are also in a hurry.