The other day I had occasion to visit a garden where aside from varied border displays so artfully cared for by the garden team, I was dazzled by an extraordinary Ginkgo tree. The tree was right in the midst of its autumn display with hundreds and thousands of little leaves, each of them fan-shaped, tiny and glowing gold in the light. I was struck by the tree’s sheer brilliance, illuminated as it was by a low sun shining across the parkland at Berrington Hall. It was a moment that I knew would crown most others that day.

I wasn’t blessed with an abundance of time, otherwise I’d have trotted across the park to view the tree from a distance. It would have looked impressive though for sure, nestled in the midst of ‘Capability’ Brown’s final garden. No, this time I was blessed in a different way, being close-up and personal, us both stood in a sublime part rural Herefordshire.

Standing beneath its mature crown looking up, it was hard not to be impressed by the tree’s volume and its many stems shooting out in different directions. Dare I say, the tree may not have been an artistically formed treasure

like the trained fruit in the walled garden nearby, but it did hold a rugged charm. If however the tree lacked any refinement in its structural form, it more than made up for this in style, its many clustered leaves shining en masse with a fiery yellow intensity.

With confidence the tree spoke too, proving it wasn’t all about the frilly foliage display. A soft purposeful sound emanated from its crown, a tune that hushed with each southerly breath of wind. As this cool November breeze blew in from the park, I moved in closer, intrigued and wanting to see the detail each leaf possessed. Sturdy elongated stalks joined every leaf to its stem, though not all were even in length, for each stalk differed, some stretching themselves further than others to ensure their fanned leaf could see the sun; resilient, charming, and adaptable too I thought.

As meetings go, my one-to-one with the Ginkgo was swift. I’m meant to notice these things of course, it is why I visit after all, but that tree in that moment held me longer, and there was no way I could have passed by without a few extra moments of study. Had I walked by the tree in summer when its leaves were chlorophyll’d up to the brim, I may still have seen the tree, but would I have really noticed it? Would I have been compelled to take some pictures and a single leaf home with me to reflect upon its perfection?

Had I not paused, I’d have missed a tree who’s glowing moment I now cherish at home on a colder, darker night. Had I not stopped to focus on the intensity of its colour, its detail and presence, I’d have robbed myself of these present moments spent remembering, thinking on the tree’s finer points and challenging myself to capture thoughts from our encounter.

I’m glad and thankful for those Ginkgo moments, and if in some way I can urge you to wrap up warm and head outside in search of your autumn moments, these words will have been worth it. You may not find a Ginkgo quite like this one, it may be a hazel or sycamore or beech, it may even be a shrub or tree that can remain nameless, but I’d implore you to look outdoors, and to savour at least one soul filling autumnal moment before winter comes.

By Gary Webb.