Can you see all those little branches at the top of the tree going all “sproingy”, jumping up straight towards the sky?

And can you sort of see how this poor tree has been massacred by my too-dull cutting sheers? And that what look like “sproingy” things are really trees in the distance?

Well, that’s how brutal pruning is. All the excited new growth that chose to zoom skyward last year? It’s gone. The tree is cut way back, close, tight.

AND do you know what? That’s what causes the tree to produce more fruit. That harsh treatment – that’s what delivers the goods. Lots of peaches.

There’s a message for art or life in here somewhere. Something obvious about getting down to basics and hard work or something like that. But I would never trust anyone that used pruning as a metaphor. Especially if they possibly did the tree in with the dull shears.

So let’s go sideways and eschew hard work. Let’s go with the romping dog. And the melting snow. And the mud everywhere. Let’s go for the value of sloth.

Especially after the darn hard work left my wrist sore. And my mind too full of lists. And my house too full of – “insideness” from a winter tucked behind doors.

That sproingy tree? It’s still sproinging. That’s the apple tree. It’s resting untouched now, as the idleness takes hold.