There used to be a perch tree outside my house. I think it's still there. But my dad chopped it down years ago. Or did he? When I wake up in the cold winter mornings, I hear the soft hymn of the peach doves that used to live in the perch. The perch was beautiful and I had pretty much grown from it, and I don't remember having a life before the perch tree had been planted and had grown. Maybe I didn't have a life before the perch tree. My grandma raised me near the perch tree. My grandpa died under the perch tree. I miss him. I miss the perch tree. "Papa!" I scream, a smirk across my face.