If you’ve ever lived near a female ginkgo tree in the fall, you’ll know how beautiful their leaves appear in autumn sunlight, and how their berries, when crushed, smell like __________. I lived for a fall with one in the driveway.

I am hoping Grace, a wonderful and surprising poet herself, won’t mind this sad poem showing up in her mailbox. This one draws a bit on a poem by Goethe, the great German poet and botanist. Of course the ginkgo doesn’t give a shit what we think of it. The trees have been around forever, have even survived an atomic bomb.