I have a Ginkgo tree, it's been growing in my garden since time began. Or at least it feels that way to me. According to Wilkipedia, it is the best representation of a living fossil around. To me, it is simply stunning. It first came to live with me when it was only 5 inches tall. Nothing more than a sprouted cutting.
Now it towers, lurking under the ceiling of the balcony above it. Wanting to stretch itself upwards and grow. I have faithfully moved it into larger pots through the years, and as much as it begs to have the prime spot out in the open air, I am hesitant to move it out into the elements. I love to see the silhouette of the branches against my patio window. I look forward to seeing the first sprouts in the spring, and the golden changes of fall echoed in it's leaves. When they turn, they turn suddenly, there is no halfway point for this foliage, it is all or nothing. One day the leaves are here, and tomorrow they have fallen. Nothing left but bare branches scrapping against the wall in the wind, and piles of golden flakes littering the patio. I leave those leaves for last, their maidenhair like shapes are too beautiful to dispose of quickly. One day, I will be brave, and move this beautiful tree out of it's protective spot, and one day, maybe my heart will b e broken, like it did when other special plants succumbed to winters wrath. Or maybe, it will respond to the added light, with a growth spurt that will put it far above the rest of the garden. After all, if this species has been able to survive since the Jurassic period, I think it could put up with some winter rain.
