Ginkgo

Tiny yellow fan.

You made your way so far.

And yet you remain with me still.

I only wish to know

what makes you so different from the rest.

What makes you round and full

Instead of divided and angled.

I wish that for myself too, you know.

I wish to radiate-

To open myself up

and take in all that’s bound to me.

Week 42.Limitations.

I can’t help but notice how the Ginkgo leaf is so different from other leaves. The Ginkgo has no centerline to divide into two sides. It’s variegations come from the base of the leaf; tiny parallel lines dividing each little part. Seeing these sections, these radiating lines, made me think about the personal areas of my own life. My struggle with boundaries, those dividing lines in relationships. As I look close at the design of the Ginkgo leaf I have to ask myself - is it always necessary to notice the way things divide? maybe in times of transition it’s more important to focus on being open like a fan.

Branches

I’ve walked beneath this archway

of branches so many times.

I barely make it through some days;

as the branches touch me lightly

I duck and continue onward.

But there is always a hollow space there,

made for a path

made by the many travelers

who have passed this way once before.

As I walk beneath

I can see how these branches reach to the other side-

Looking for something,

anything that could lead the way into winter.

week 41. Connections.

There is one section of the woods, right near the pond where the branches reach low and create a sort of archway where people can walk beneath. It’s almost like a tunnel of a sort. The branches are all the same kind of tree, thin wispy branches with colors that range from pale yellows to red. I got to thinking about how branches reach out to other branches. How we are constantly making connections all the time. Locking into ways to create security, strength and support. The arched pathway is one of my favorite places these woods. There’s something beautiful about the way paths form organically. I guess I’d like to believe that human connections are kind of the same. We meet others, we reach out, we try to form bonds and somewhere along the way we grow, leaning ever so slightly towards change.

Cherry tree

It was not even cold the day we arrived.

We walked through the quaint northern town,

gazing upon others as if we knew them by name.

Everywhere we went I saw a red cherry tree.

In each town square,

In every field and along dirt roads,

Every time, I had to stop and look from below.

Up, into the brilliant blue sky,

Into the specked array of red dots

refracted by the sun.

Even in November

as the weather plays its tricks

and the sun filters through each section,

somewhere the familiar stirrings

of the holidays are not far off.

Week 40. The familiar.

I went up to Vermont this weekend and traveled around a bunch of quaint New England towns. It was funny, everywhere I went I saw these beautiful trees with small cherry like fruits. They reminded me so much of a kind of mistletoe. This fall the weather has been quite mild, leaving me feeling a bit unprepared for the idea that the holiday season is almost here. Seeing these trees made me think about things that we are all too familiar with in our lives, things that we almost don’t notice anymore because we just expect them. All the things we assume will come without any effort. Sometimes we feel so familiar with those who we care for, maybe even too familiar. The word “family” and “familiar” must be related in this sense. Sometimes I forget how important close connections in my life are, they are significant because they root me back to what I know as true, and sometimes that’s a very good place to be.

Tiny red leaves

Each tiny leaf has it’s own way.

Some are still pale yellow;

offering me hope and opportunity.

Some are transitioning into red;

The strange world of two places at once.

And then there are the deep garnet colored leaves.

The ones that are there to guide me

Towards letting go of this branch;

something I’ve waited my whole life for.

Week 39. Mortality.

I’ve been thinking about how small events are there to help prepare us for greater events. Like for example, letting go. To me, this represents the idea of letting go of my own life eventually. I know that I struggle with letting go of many things in my life. Each one is a kind of preparation. I believe these small things give us tools so we are better equip to handle what’s to come. It makes sense to me that we would need to prepare ourselves emotionally and psychologically for something like death. Looking at the small experiences and seeing connections to a larger event may be one way of processing the big stuff.

A family of leaves

I look at each leave and it is clear they are related.

Each one is slightly different.

One larger.

One louder.

One never shows his hand.

So I place them in a line

and then into sections;

and wonder I how this is fair?

How can they be the same

when circumstances divide,

creating beautiful imperfections

and deep rooted scars

which forever remain.

Week 38. Brothers and sisters.

I have been collecting families of leaves these days. Examining the small differences between leaves from the same tree. It’s fascinating to notice the spots, the browning edges, and the splattered inky blotches. As I look at the variety within a single family of leaves I think about my siblings. I think about the things that divide us and the things that bond us together. There are things from our pasts that no other person has lived through but us. But now that we are older our lives seem to divide. I watch my brother struggling with radiation therapy and I think about how each one of us must make choices as to how we can help. I have come to realize that letting go of the hurt from the past is instrumental in being able to give unconditionally.