The Temple Tree of the Ancient Chinese

She told me once, "It is the oldest tree on campus."

And I stood under its yellow expanse

Gazing through the great golden dome

Of buttressed branches and flame-lit leaves.

It was November then

And the leaves remembered

With their brilliant fire.

The last show of the sun

Before the winter reigns.

I remember the story she told

Of the ginkgo tree

The temple tree of the ancient Chinese:

A monk wandered once

For months and months

Searching for a resting place

A place of consolation

A place to build his temple.

After he crossed the final mountain

With blistered feet he came to rest

Beneath the bare branches of a twisted tree

Laying there his own twisted limbs

Resting there his grey tired head.

And as he nearly slept, he prayed

Repeating once again his wish

For a golden temple resting place.

Then, without warning, the bare branches trembled

Bursting forth with golden color

Sheltering with a great golden dome

Showering him with great golden leaves.

And so today the ginkgo tree

Becomes once a year a golden temple.

I think of this tree as I sit everyday

With mountains of papers and deadlines to meet

My mind, wandering like the ancient monk,

Roams from the room

Into the open air

Crosses the grassy green

To rest wearily

Beneath the golden dome

Of the golden ginkgo tree.

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Note: first published at The University of California, Berkeley, under the name The Gingko Tree of Giannini.