This is my favorite ginko tree.She is wearing her early Spring green dress. She sways in the breeze. She smiles. She spins to show off her dress. She listens to the wind's song and hums softly along. She has done this joyfully for many, many years. She is naked in winter. And she suffers the wind and rain and ice and snow. But when the sun finally warms her, she wakes again. She smiles. She pulls on her frills. She smiles at herself in the mirror. She waves, she sighs. Oh, she says. Oh what a deep sleep. And such dreaming! Oh, how wonderful it is to be awakened from such a long, cold sleep. She yawns herself awake. She shakes her head gently. She spins. She admires her dress. She giggles.
This is the same ginko tree in Fall. I saw her as she fell asleep.She was wearing her yellow night gown. She yawned. She sighed. She swayed with the cold, howling wind. She smiled slightly. She had heard the wind's song before, and she knew the tune, but, alas, she still fretted. If she slept, would she wake? If she slept, would her dreams be sweet? Or horrors? It was natural, she thought, natural to anticipate the deep cold. Natural, she said, to anticipate utter nakedness, the rawc skin, the profound shivering, the howling of wolves and the blue, frozen, arid moon and the calling of distant owls. And the glacial sleep. The sleep in which she would dream of a distant bright yellow, warm sun, and a warm breath of whispers, and at the end, a gentle breath and soft kiss on her neck and the sweet smell of lavender. Lavender wafting in the distance, far away now, but coming closer as her eyelids closed, and the winter's sleep covered her in gray felt and perfect dreaming and blue and pink ice.