VI. The Hidden Orchard
Where Blossoms Conceal Their Core
The orchard wears a crown of bloom,
each branch a veil, each flower a plume.
White petals drift like falling snow,
but what they hide, the roots still know.
Beneath the blush, the fruit will swell,
a sweetness born where shadows dwell.
Yet some will bruise, and some will rot,
truth ripens, whether seen or not.
I walk between the rows of trees,
their fragrance thick, their silence seized.
They whisper soft: not all is shown,
the mask of beauty guards its own.
And still, I love them—mask and all,
the blossoms bright, the apples’ fall.
For every orchard holds disguise:
the hidden self the earth supplies.
So let the petals veil the core—
the truth will bloom, then hide once more.
About the Creator
Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales
I love to write. I have a deep love for words and language; a budding philologist (a late bloomer according to my father). I have been fascinated with the construction of sentences and how meaning is derived from the order of words.
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