Recollections of the frost of a few days ago.
This morning, a heavier than usual layer of mist veils the rising sun behind the tulip tree. This time the sun is so pale that it resembles more a half-sucked acid drop than the barley sugar sweet of a few days ago.
The huge oak on the corner of the Grove and Belview is receiving attention as I get to the top of South Grove. A tape measure is strapped round its girth, and higher up about 20 sensors are fixed to the bark in a circle round the tree. A man in an orange jacket taps a sensing needle into the trunk beneath each of the sensors while a woman with a laptop in her hand checks the result of his probe. "We're checking the health of the tree," says the woman in reply to my question. "It's like a cardiograph, " I say. She nods in reply. I tip toe away feeling that I have been intruding in a patient's medical procedure. Because I care deeply about this tree, I want to ask about the health of the patient, but the tree doctor seems so absorbed in her job that I am constrained to be silent.