Cherry Tree
by Ruskin Bond
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In 'Cherry Tree', Ruskin Bond narrates, over eight years, the growth of a cherry tree he planted from a single seed. He almost forgets the seed, yet 'cherries have a way of growing'. The tiny sapling survives many threats, goats eating its leaves, a grass-cutter's scythe splitting it, and a monsoon blight shrivelling its stem, but struggles bravely upward for light, air and sun. Returning after a season in Kashmir, the poet is thrilled to find a six-foot tree bearing a single jewelled berry, and the next year, small pink fragile blossoms. Lying on the grass, watching bees drink nectar and finches flit through the dappled green, the poet feels a deep ecstasy and proudly praises 'Night and Stars and tree', the small cherry grown by him. The poem celebrates patience, the miracle of nature, and the quiet joy of nurturing life.
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'Cherry Tree' by Ruskin Bond is a narrative nature poem tracing, over eight years, the growth of a cherry tree the poet planted from a seed. It celebrates the patience of nature, the will of a small plant to survive, and the deep joy of watching something one has nurtured come to life.
A seed almost forgotten
Eight years earlier, the poet placed a cherry seed in the grass, watered it once and forgot it. Yet 'cherries have a way of growing, though no one's caring very much or knowing.' One summer near the end of May he suddenly finds that a small, five-month-old tree has 'come to stay', lost in the tall wild grass.
The struggle to survive
The young tree faces many threats: goats eat its leaves, the grass-cutter's scythe splits it apart, and a monsoon blight shrivels its slender stem. Even so, next spring three new shoots grow, and the tree struggles upward, thrusting its arms 'in a fresh fierce lust' for light, air and sun. The poet can only wait and watch while 'Time and the rain made a miracle from green growing pain.'
The tree in bloom and the poet's ecstasy
After a season in Kashmir, the poet returns 'thinner, rather poor, but richer by a cherry tree at my door', now six feet high and bearing a single jewelled berry ripened in the sun. The next year come small pink blossoms, 'fragile, quick to fall at the merest breath'.
Lying at ease on the grass, the poet looks up through the leaves at the blue sky and the flitting finches, while bees drink nectar 'in an ecstasy'. As the sun sinks and the stars turn, he, with moon-moths and singing crickets, joyfully praises 'Night and Stars and tree: that small, the cherry, grown by me.'