The apple tree throws down its dead and we kneel, fools for its blackened, overripe flesh.’ This is a line from a poem I wrote about the house we restored from a derelict state; the house that is now our home.  The poem referenced the all-seeing apple tree that had always been there, overlooking the back of the house, taking us from season to season.

The tree was a victim of last Monday’s Storm Ophelia, which hit Ireland very hard. It now lies in two halves, pale bark exposed, its multi-branched head, face down. We miss it.  Back in spring its blossom was breathtaking.  My husband urged me to take a picture before the tree stopped blooming.  I’m so glad I did.

Apple Tree
Photo by K. S. Moore

There is some possibility the tree might survive.  A couple of small branches are still attached.  We will have to wait and see.  Whatever happens, next spring and summer will be very different.  There will be a lot less colour and life in our garden.  The loss of our tree was the only loss we suffered during the storm.  We know we are lucky, but I think we are allowed to be sad.



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K. S. Moore is a Welsh Poet and Writer, based in Ireland. Her poetry has recently appeared in The Stinging Fly, Southword and Crannog.Online magazines: Nutshells and Nuggets, And Other Poems, and Ink Sweat and Tears have also featured poems. Meanwhile, flash fiction and short stories have been published in FlashFlood, Metazen, Number Eleven and The Bohemyth.K. S. Moore has been shortlisted for Flash Mob 2013, Blog Awards Ireland and 99 Fiction. She has performed at Waterford Writers' Weekend, Waterford Winterval and Swansea's Dylan Thomas Festival.


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