There's a tree right outside my room in our family home. A Narra, grown from one of the seeds that fell from the old trees that used to stand like sentinels by our gate; the ones that were eventually cut down to be made into chairs and other furniture. I never paid much attention to it. Not when Papa was alive, anyway. We never got much time to visit home, so there was always so much to catch up on during the rare times we did.