A high wall enclosed the orchard - pale stone girdled its ancient trees -
Penelope and I followed paths mown through waist high grass - delicate leaves hanging from lichened branches provided shade -
Memories of apple harvests hung above our heads - the trees dreamed their slow dreams -
I imagined drinking cider made from Old Pearmain or Oslin apples -
I would drink long golden autumns from my glass -
Bells in the abbey would sound for compline -
Shadows would lengthen as day gave way to night -
16.00
Wednesday 1 July 2015
Priorwood Orchard
Melrose Abbey
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