See “Living Fossils” (the final version of this image) in 40×41: Midlife Crisis Postponed.

The canopied ginkgo outside my study stretches skyward, summoning squirrels into its celestial labyrinth. In winter the skeletal colossus too partially shelters the bird feeders’ birds from hungry red-tailed hawks who spy, plunge, and picnic in, between, and beneath the tree’s appendages. Winter, spring, summer, and fall the ginkgo hosts flitting choirs of transient songbirds, armadas of arboreal buskers, praising, perhaps, the ancient biloba’s benevolence.

I too try a tuneful prayer to the so-green-but-soon-to-be-golden leaves.

Noble ginkgo, please forestall my inevitable, eventual cognitive decline. I promise to sacrifice bountifully at memory’s font; to chant and dance this anti-dementia dirge for all to witness; and to choke back my gripes and grumbles when your putrid fruit fall and foul the lawn. But most of all, wise tree, I promise to defend and not to judge your unbiased generosity to all who seek your gifts. For the dove and the duck, the eagle and the owl, the squirrel and the fox all worship at your altar…

[Some posts are best abbreviated before I burst a brain bubble!]