The apple tree

The first 200 words of this essay...

The Apple Tree

The sound of the whistle echoed through the station, the train machinery started growling as it went off. Families, friends, partners were waving their goodbyes to their relatives, running after the engine as others started leaving. An old man walked on to the platform as it was being deserted little by little. Dressed in white from head to toe, holding his cane for support in one hand and a gorgeous bouquet of crimson almost black velvet textured roses in the other. He ran wobbly and unstably forward after the train, forgetting for a split instant he possessed a walking stick; then froze as if stricken with reality; he had obviously missed his departure for the south of France. His face expression gave away this was a first time, but one disappointment to many. Disbelief and resignation cast a deeper shadow over his wrinkles making him look every bit his eighty five years of age. Scared he was, but despite this, his gaze was alive and crumbs of passion could be discovered in the depth of his light gray eyes.

Out of breath he staggered up to a bench near by, removing his white hat and