Edward S Gault

THE ORCHARD

It was twilight.

The sun was almost completely

Sunk below the ridge.

I got my flashlight out

And proceeded on.

I came to this vast field.

The field was full of fruit trees.

Some with oranges.

Some with apples.

And even bananas?

Bushes with all kinds of berries.

I was starving, yet couldn't eat the fruit.

It wasn't ripe.

Not yet.

The flashlight did more than just light my way.

It seemed to guide me through this unusual orchard.

I looked down between the rows,

And could see they stretched out ad infinitum.

Every tree had a screen next to it.

Each screen showed me a part of my life.

The scenarios of what I said

      What I could have said.

               What I did.

                        What I could have done.

      And the way each decision played out.

One showed me and my wife in our senior years

Sitting by a crackling fire, children playing at our feet.

This was another world; I hadn't seen her in years.

The next showed me as an old man 

Sitting alone in a dark room.

Another showed me walking in a prison yard.

                        Yet another had me sitting 

                        Outside a 7-11 with a cup.

One screen had me in front of a classroom,

In another, I was working in a cubicle, forgotten.

Each one of these things almost happened,

Depending if I had said yes to one, or no to the other.

My life had gone in a whirl,

And I hadn't thought about the trajectories my life could take.

The good choices, and the mistakes.

I hadn't gone to prison, 

But nor did I get to sit with grandchildren by the fire.

I seemed to know just enough to keep out of trouble,

But never enough to get the prize, 

Whatever that could have been, at any given time.

Many times, I was saved 

More out grace, than wisdom.

I walked on, as each screen, confirmed or taunted,

In some choices, I lost each way.

In others, I chose well, but could have done better.

Finally, I came to a river.

I put my feet in, and listened to the stories it had to tell.

Many times, the stories started out the same,

But would end differently, 

               Depending on what the characters did,

                                   What they did not.

               What they said, at what point,

                                    And what they did not.

I walked on down the river bank,

And saw the river getting wider,

As she continued to whisper her stories,

And the possibilities grew.