This is "my" french branch, taken from my open window in the afternoon sun shining through the leaves, a few years back.
That in the fall. The cherries early summer. The daffodils in the spring. And sometimes, rare snow in the garden. I had not much but lived very near the ground. For the first time in my life, having a small garden of my own and some of the shared ones on which was the cherry tree.
In my childhood, it was my grand-mother's garden we went and were I played all summer long, at least a month, until we went to the second grand mother in the mountains. From there, I remember the forest and the wild fruits and their smell and taste.
Yesterday, someone held my hand warmly for a minute, in compassion, I still feel it. I realized just then, no one touches me, no one other then my grand children when I visit them. They do! They do!
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