I wonder if trees feel like their life is over when the pickers have finished picking this season’s fruit. And I wonder if they go though feelings of loss and hopelessness again in October when their leaves fall off. And I wonder if they think they’re dying when the first cold wind blows and the first snow of winter blankets their bare branches. And I wonder if they think the orchardist is a brutal and cruel person who only wishes to cut and slash and take away their beautiful limbs and branches and twigs and leave them like skeletons standing. And I wonder if they think it’s all going to be wonderful from now on and that they’ll never struggle again when their leaves and blossoms come out in the spring. And I wonder if they feel like they’re really, finally worth something and that now they’ll always feel productive and that from now on they’ll always live with a deep sense of satisfaction and worth when their branches are weighed down with luscious fruit in the late summer. Nah, probably not. They’re probably smarter than me.