![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() The brilliant green of a new-fledged beech is, for me, the spring’s most beautiful colour, and the velvety sheen of its bark can be a sculptural delight. Beech doesn’t even start growing until there’s light for 13 hours of the day. ![]() It’s one way, I learn, that the tree measures day length, to time the explosion of emerald impounded at the bud’s core. And true enough, they were partly transparent, to let in the light. On tiptoe, I tugged a bud down and peeled off its coppery, protective scales. But thousands of new buds prick the sky, still slim and tightly wound but lengthening with every fine day. It bears a scant tatter of last year’s leaves, their winter glow quite faded. Our solitary beech is the last tree on the acre to burst into leaf, well after the native oaks and ash.
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