Gathered late,
the gingkos fell
all gold.
Paper fans
lie soft and quiet
amid approaching
winter grass.
I sigh and bend
to retrieve a first bouquet
from this young tree-
an autumn offering
held and pressed
to my curved lips,
to feel with all my senses
the cool
of a changing season-
a silent kiss
to God.
Claudia Lowery
November 28, 2008
Two years ago I first became aware of the gingko leaf shape, form, and color during a season of intense personal creativity. After planting a slender gingko tree and holding my breath through the first winter, I rejoiced at the first spring buds knowing it had rooted well. Now I watched its first autumn and the turning of the lime green leaves into a deep gold. About 40 leaves graced my young tree and when they finally let go of their security and fell to the earth I gathered them in the quiet and cool afternoon. The gingko is a powerful symbol of creativity for me. This poem is the result of that moment.
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