I’ve mentioned that we don’t get the autumn colors like I had growing up in Chicago, and I miss that. Sure, in Southern France, there are the vineyards which change seasonally, but there aren’t the vast forests of colors as I remember. I particularly like maple trees, so Christophe planted one for me in the garden. This is its first year, and its leaves turn flaming red. I love it. It reminds me of autumns where colored leaves fill the ground and a perfume lingers in the air. I smile each time I see my maple tree because I know with which intention it was planted. It works and I’m happily reminded of home.
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