When the Peach Trees Bloom
I sit quietly at the entrance of the house in the early morning. The air is still cool, carrying the fading breath of winter. The garden is silent except for the distant sound of a bird greeting the day. In front of me stands the peach tree, thin branches stretching gently toward the pale sky. It does not look impressive at first glance. Its limbs twist in quiet patience, reaching above the red tiles of the roof, as if sketching a quiet picture against the morning light.
