How I would play around the fence and then look up with pride in my eyes. The outgrown branches of the tree stretched out and reached my bedroom's window.
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| The other one ~ just out side the window of the living room |
If I could resurrect something from the past, it would be the flame trees that once lined the fence off the pavement. Especially the one beneath my window, obstructing any view of the world outside. It was stretched out and was so close that I could stretch my hand out and touch it. I cherished the green hue it cast into my bedroom during winters. I wished there was a park bench beneath it where I could sit and bask in its presence. In summer, it bloomed with vibrant coral-red flowers, a captivating sight and that hue would paint my bleak walls. I'd sit on the parapet, watching it for hours during twilight.
Yet, the rain made my time with the tree truly worthwhile. Standing on my toes, I'd observe the leaves trying to catch the falling drops. The tree would renew and bloom with all its beauty. Remembering, when I was five, I tied balloons to the branch, joyously jumping each time it swayed in the breeze. Sometimes, I'd sit by the window, reading, feeling the tree's silent companionship. The first short story I wrote was about this tree.
Autumns were heartless—flowers and leaves falling off, leaving behind bare branches. The pavements lined with dead leaves swept off by the wind. But in summer, it would spring again. When feeling blue, I'd think of the tree and hope for a change. It was the cycle of life that taught me what goes away comes back. The tree was cut down by TMC in 2009. The window remained shut for the whole month; I lacked the courage to open it and see the tree missing. A year later, a small branch grew and bloomed in the summer. It'll take a few more years for that branch to reach my window, and in its growth, I patiently wait. But perhaps, nobody wanted it there, except me.
Some people wonder how trees are a man's best friend.
And I just know.
