我家後院的橘子樹

The Orange Tree in My Backyard

In the corner of my backyard stands an old orange tree.
It isn’t the kind you see in glossy gardening magazines—perfectly trimmed and surrounded by flowerbeds.
No garden lights, no rare blooms for company.
It simply stands there, quietly, like an unspoken elder, watching over this small patch of earth, and watching over me.

In spring, it is at its gentlest.
Tender leaves peek shyly from the branches, still heavy with the hush of winter sleep.
Tight buds hold their fragrance like a secret, and when the April breeze passes, tiny white blossoms finally open—sending their scent to seep into the air, and into my heart.
In those moments, I often sit beneath the tree, letting the wind weave through my hair, listening to birdsong and the soft rustle of leaves.
It feels as if the world has quieted, leaving only the two of us.

In summer, its leaves grow deep and lush, a canopy thick enough to swallow the harshest sunlight.
In the afternoon shade, I drink tea, read a book, or do nothing at all—listening to the cicadas hum and the faraway sigh of the wind.
All the while, the tree is quietly tending to its fruit, tucking sweetness away in the silent conversation between sunlight and time.

Autumn is when it is most beautiful.
The once-green fruit turns slowly to a warm, glowing orange, as if the setting sun has gifted it its last light.
A breeze passes, carrying the fragrance of ripening oranges until even the air feels softened.
In that moment, I can feel the days slowing down, the noise of life fading into a kind of fragrant stillness.

Then comes winter, and it becomes a tree hung with lanterns.
Morning dew clings to the fruit, glinting in the pale light.
When I reach for one, the skin is warm to the touch, its texture familiar, like the warmth of a hand I have held for years.
The moment I peel it open, the air bursts alive with its perfume.
The juice is sweet and bright on my tongue—a sweetness born not only of the fruit itself, but of all the seasons it has endured to bring it here.

Over the years, it has seen my joys, my weariness, my moments of waiting and of return.
It never speaks, yet it understands the weight of companionship.
When the wind comes, it sways gently; when the rain falls, it stands in quiet endurance.
It has taught me that both bitterness and sweetness in life must be given time to ripen; it has reminded me that some waits are worth keeping.

I know there will come a day when it grows old, when its trunk will no longer stand so tall, and its leaves will drift away one by one.
But as long as it remains, it will keep placing its sweetest fruit in my palm each winter.
And in that moment, I will remember every season it has warmed my life—whispering softly in my heart, Thank you, for walking through so many seasons with me.