Fall on my street in London

Fall arrived the forth year on my street.

How time flies!

How feelings change, but some other things remain the same.

Those are not the same leaves, even if there are on the same trees. My mother told me when I was 12 years old: this old chestnut tree is not as you or as I see it. I did not understand, what she wanted to convey! A tree was a tree, in the park for me. And even, one looked so similar to the other.

We are all different, feel different and also, are perceived otherwise depending who and when looks at us.

Are we still the same?

Somewhere, inside, perhaps. But I even accepted as I begun to tell stories about my life, that the past can change, depending how we look at it, how we tell about it, what we leave out or put in.