My fall branch in 2011

Year after year, for 7 long years, living in Argenteuil, near Paris, I had this tree, before my window.

Those were the only sign of "real fall" for me.

Here, in London, now for the 4th fall, all the street takes wonderful fall colours, but this branch which is like the one I had is specially speaking to me, year after year.
 
Here it is a memory of what was.


Some reminder, from afar. Reminder of those days I stayed home and sometimes my only "fall" tree were those branches in my garden.

Till, one day, furious on me, my grandson chopped it down, "to put it on the grave of the dead cat, where my mom told me it was buried."

It never really grew back. Before leaving, it begun, timidly.

At least not until I left, that was all.

the set of my "old" fall branch

"It is not a good tree" the neighbour told me, but it was my tree, my fall branch, year after year. Good for me, beautiful to look at from the window. And interesting to see as it changed colours and become more and more dark red towards the end, before the leaves fell.

"My branch" the only one I remember.