Yet I still managed to feel disappointed that the taproot hadn’t immediately presaged a cavalcade of growth. But I don’t have a choice: the boomer who owns my home is renovating, and in two months I’ll have to leave my beautiful garden with its apple tree. Everything I’ve read suggests apple cuttings don’t take well. Only something miraculous can overcome such relentlessness: “Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow.”In Wurundjeri country where I live, it’s the season of waring, the wombat. So I tend my leafless apple twigs, and imagine their roots unfurling slowly, slowly in the dark soil.

Source: The Guardian June 19, 2019 00:51 UTC