I go

Once upon a time, when I was a small girl and my father was still alive in this place, near this tree, very often my father left his bike tied with a chain around this tree. Mom told me that someone tried to steal it. I was six years old when my father died, and I remember how for a long time my mother was trying out this place to create a garden ..... she planted flowers, but they did not take root. After heavy rains this place became deserted again. And this place became a place of my memories, my garden of memories.