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Underneath the Ginkgo Tree
By the first week of November the ginkgo tree starts to lose its leaves. The leaves change from green, to yellow, and then to gold…its hardest hue to hold.
The last leaf drops like a swaying lullaby as it slowly makes its way to its final resting place. I watch the leaf drift left then right as if to a melody.
The ginkgo tree, he is resilient. He may drop his leaves in November but he does not die. He burrows his roots deep in the ground. He stands strong and proud. He says he will live to be one thousand years maybe even three.
He lives on in glimpses of hope and memories. We nurture him, we talk to him, we share stories while we sit with him. A ginkgo tree. A tree of memories a tree of life. Where I see you and you see me underneath the ginkgo tree.
Our hearts grew strong underneath that tree. I felt two beats; you felt three. Connected we would always be underneath the ginkgo tree.
It is June now; the ginkgo tree is full of fan-shaped green leaves. The leaves are split, one of you and one of me. Each branch, each stem a connection from within. They may fall and they may fly but each memory will never die.
Surrounded we would be of the leaves and of the tree where I see you and you see me underneath the ginkgo tree.
In loving memory of my father,
Donald Richard Steele (10.27.1943 – 11.17.2021)