Life with a Ginkgo tree in Indiana
Summer writes on his blog: "I sit and watch the tree regularly. The image of it has become a part of me. But I want more from it than its beauty—even more than its shade. I want the tree to speak to me. .......I want to know how old the tree is. I sit at its edges, lean against its base and look out at the world it sees—simple wood homes filled with families, shouting, wiggling teenagers walking home from school and cars hurriedly trying to get somewhere........One November morning, I awoke to the sound of rain. Except it wasn’t quite the sound of rain. It was soft and padded in some way. It was a sound I’d never heard. It was like what you would expect snow to sound like if snow made noise when it hit the ground. My ears loved it. I sat up, peeked through the blinds, and was startled by what was there. I jumped out of bed. I walked out my front door, clothed in pajamas and looked up in amazement as every leaf fell from my tree. It was raining yellow gingko leaves. My walkway was covered in gold."
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