The Motorway Apple Tree

I have noticed it all summer as I ran and walked over the bridge that crossed the motorway. Growing on the banking an apple tree. During the summer it had an abundance of tasty apples now its leaves are falling and the last remaining apple far out of reach clings on. Where it is makes it plain that somebody having eaten an apple has thrown the core over the edge of the bridge where one of the seeds has germinated and the tree has grown.

It is actually special this tree, because apple seeds are not so easy to germinate and grow as it would seem. So many apples have fallen from this tree but the chances of another growing are small. The tiny seed needs nurtured and cared for. The conditions need to be just right for it to grow.

The number that manage to germinate is few, the number of saplings that are not eaten or trampled or knocked out are fewer. So the fact that this tree has made it is something marvellous.

As I viewed I thought, it's quite often so with people's dreams. Wonderful ideas come to our minds but they die too soon - we don't tend to the little saplings, we don't protect them as we should. And then one day we wonder what happened to our dreams - why did they never come true?


Maybe the seeds of your dreams did not automatically grow. Like planting an apple tree it might take many tries. Like the hundreds of tries to have that book published, you might send your manuscript out two hundred times before it is accepted. You might meet dozens of people until you met the true friend. You may have to paint many paintings till you stand back and feel you have produced something you truly like.

But if you keep on sowing the seeds of your dreams, one day you will succeed.

And after that others will comment on how lucky you are to be successful - when in fact you have probably failed more often than you would like to count. But you were good at failing, you learned, you adapted, and then with your new knowledge you tried again.

And again.

And again.

And one day success is yours.

I am sorry I am posting my apple again but it seems to fit this story so well. I have shown it completed in a mount and believe it or not signed. Yes I do like it.

I hope that today you dream dreams and that one of then becomes reality.

This blog is linked to my other.  The Apple, Can I Tempt You? (Complete)

What Every Woman Wants.

It was a raining wet and windy day and I was beginning to wish I had stayed in bed with my book. Then two things happened that changed the whole day. As I ran up a muddy track towards the lake a farmer approached in his equally muddy defender truck. He stopped and rolled down his window, “Good morning, I did not know Jimmy Saville had a younger brother.” Now for those who do no know Jimmy Saville was a DJ famous in the 60s. He was also known as an inspiration to so many people, taking part in marathon running well into his late sixties, and even now still turns up to encourage others. I felt I had been paid a compliment indeed.

The second thing that happened was the sight of the lake. It looked magical in the rain. As I ran along the rough track at its side I could imagine the lady of the lake reaching her hand into the air with Excalibur.

I began to muse over that story of loyalty and love. Now before I tell you the tale let me emphasise I am not being at all sexist in my telling of the tale.

The tale is this.

The young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighbouring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him but was moved by Arthur's youth and ideals. So, the monarch offered him his freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer and, if after a year, he still had no answer, he would face death.

The question he had to answer? What do women really want?

Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end.

He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everyone: the princess, the priests, the wise men, Merlin and even the court jester. He spoke with everyone, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer. Many people advised him to consult the old witch, for only she would have the answer. But the price would be high; as the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.

The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no choice but to talk to the witch, she agreed to answer the question, but he would have to agree to her price first. The old witch wanted to marry Sir Lancelot, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend! Young Arthur was horrified. She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage, made obscene noise. He had never encountered such a repugnant creature in all his life.

He refused to force his friend to marry her and endure such a terrible burden; but Lancelot, learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He said nothing was too big of a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the preservation of the Round Table.

So a wedding was proclaimed and the witch answered Arthur's question thus:

What a woman really wants, is to be in charge of her own life! Everyone in the kingdom instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur's life would be spared. And so it was, the neighbouring monarch granted Arthur his freedom and Lancelot and the witch had a wonderful wedding.

The honeymoon hour approached and Lancelot, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom. But, what a sight awaited him. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen stood before him. The astounded Lancelot asked what had happened

The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she appeared as a witch, she would henceforth, be her horrible deformed self only half the time and the beautiful maiden the other half. Which would he prefer? Beautiful during the day, or beautiful during the night?

Lancelot pondered the predicament. During the day, a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his castle, an old witch? Or, would he prefer having a hideous witch during the day, but by night, a beautiful woman for him to share wondrous intimate moments?

Noble Lancelot said that he would allow HER to make the choice herself. Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time because he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own life.

There is nothing greater than having a friend who has chosen to be your friend with no persuasion on your part.

Such is the way of the Tao.

This blog is linked to my other. Where Do I Begin?

The Grass is Always Greener.

I did not think anybody would be at all interested in what I ate, sorry Jerry. My daughter made a marvellous Thai Green Curry while I cooked fresh rainbow trout on the fire outdoors. The trout were stuffed with leeks and dill fresh from my plot and lemon. The only small problem was the string I held all this into the fish had a tendency to want to burn. Such is life.

Now while you think of that I am thinking of that fresh grown tomato, there is nothing to beat produce freshly picked.

This discussion reminds me of a beautiful little story of the young girl.

The little girl lived in a small, very simple, poor house on a hill and as she grew she would play in the small garden and as she grew she was able to see over the garden fence and across the valley to a wonderful house high on the hill – and this house had golden windows, so golden and shining that the little girl would dream of how magic it would be to grow up and live in a house with golden windows instead of an ordinary house like hers.

And although she loved her parents and her family, she yearned to live in such a golden house and dreamed all day about how wonderful and exciting it must feel to live there.

When she got to an age where she gained enough skill and sensibility to go outside her garden fence, she asked her mother is she could go for a bike ride outside the gate and down the lane. After pleading with her, her mother finally allowed her to go, insisting that she kept close to the house and didn’t wander too far. The day was beautiful and the little girl knew exactly where she was heading! Down the lane and across the valley, she rode her bike until she got to the gate of the golden house across on the other hill.

As she dismounted her bike and lent it against the gate post, she focused on the path that lead to the house and then on the house itself…and was so disappointed as she realized all the windows were plain and rather dirty, reflecting nothing other than the sad neglect of the house that stood derelict.

So sad she didn’t go any further and turned, heartbroken as she remounted her bike … As she glanced up she saw a sight to amaze her…there across the way on her side of the valley was a little house and its windows glistened golden …as the sun shone on her little home.

She realized that she had been living in her golden house and all the love and care she found there was what made her home the ‘golden house’. Everything she dreamed was right there in front of her nose!

As they say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

This blog is linked to my other.   Castles in the Sky

The Hatchet, Butterflies and Poppies

It was a bible study night in the prison. I had invited along an English teacher from the local high school. The prisoners had been having difficulty with the problem of whether the bible as a book was to be taken literally or should there be an effort to interpret for better understanding. I thought that this particular teacher might have something worthwhile to contribute to the discussion. She was trying to explain the use of poetic language. She said to the prisoners, “If I said that I floated over the lawn like a butterfly you would know exactly what I meant. Likewise if I say bury that hatchet you know I do not mean that to be taken as literally.” “Well,” said one prisoner, “maybe you might not, but that is why I am in here, because I did just that.”

Two things that never fail to bring joy into the lives of people are Poppies and Butterlies. Both so transitory in their existence. Here but for a moment and gone.


Butterflies do indeed float over gardens and with them they bring a great presence of beauty. For this very reason I planted a Buddleia plant in my garden. Butterflies love the enormous flower heads and the strong aroma. Butterflies have always evoked emotion down through the centuries. An old worthy speaks of how he dreamt he was a butterfly and such was the emotion when he awoke that he was forced to ask. “Was I a man who dreamt I was a butterfly? Or am I a butterfly who believes I am a man?

It is this sense of wonder and that is the goal and aim of most art. The desire to share with others the emotions stirred up in everyday life. Sometimes what we try to convey might be a flash of insight worthy of sharing, or it may be a fleeting ephemeral passing feeling.

I can think of emotions brought to my inner being by the sight of a butterfly landing on a flower and opening its wings to the sun.

I remember as a young boy capturing a butterfly in a jar so that I could look at. In so doing I had captured something and contained it in a jar for a large part of its expected lifespan. Such is not the way of Tao. The artist can capture that moment and share it for eternity. Then they are at one with Chi.

Oh beautiful butterfly

Fly my way

Here for a day tomorrow you die

Touch me with wonder

Excite me with joy

Ephemeral moment

Stay with me for aye.

The Lost Axe and the Stolen Sweets

A man was in his garden chopping wood for his fire one day, as he chopped he was also making a very tidy woodpile sorting the logs in to various thicknesses. As he worked a young boy who lived not far from him joined him and offered to help. They took turns at cutting and stacking. After about two hours of labour they had made a considerable sized woodpile all stacked very neatly. The young lad left and went his way. The next day the old man went out to the woodpile to collect his axe. It was not where he normally left it, it had disappeared. Later that day the old man saw the young lad who had helped him pass down passed his house. He thought to himself, “That is what has happened to my axe. He has stolen it.” Each time he saw the young man he repeated this not only to himself but also to others in his hearing. The young lad was branded a thief by almost everybody in the village. People could be heard to whisper about him as he went about his day to day business. He became known as the village thief by almost everybody.


As the winter progressed the old man was thankful for the large pile of wood he had made. On cold evenings he had a ready supply of wood. On one such night he went out to gather some logs for his fire. As he lifted off some of the larger logs there exposed was the shaft of the long lost axe.

I remember when I was a very young lad in my second year at school a fellow pupil had a bag of sweets in her classroom desk. We had a period of gym to attend and we all left the room to go to the gym hall. On our return he sweets had disappeared. She looked round the room and noticed that I was eating a sweetie. She promptly went out to the teacher and accused me of stealing hers. It must have been a Friday, because that was the only day I ever got sweets. I knew who had the sweets, it was the classroom bully and he had told me that if I reported him I would get a lot worse on the way home. That day I got the belt from the teacher. Worse though years later I met that girl and she said to me, “You were the guy who stole my sweets.” I told her the real tale but for all those years she had branded me a thief.

Before we speak we should consider the consequences of what it is we say. This can work two ways. If we are the kind of person who is fast to judgement we may stigmatise another. If we are hyper critical of another we may put them off for life. Artists are often quick to comment on the work of others and in a strange desire to always be over enthusiastic miss an opportunity to encourage improvement. I was, and maybe to a degree still am, guilty of putting my mouth into gear before engaging my brain.

What we say can have a lasting effect on the lives of others. The painting I have included with this thought is one I have called, “Fractured Dreams.” It is one that I am sure inspire a deathly hush or some quiet thought it came to me as I considered the thoughts above wondering if I had ever fractured the dreams of another.