I thought I recognised the leaves, but was thrown by its habit. I couldn’t resist the urge to stand within the curtain and peer out at the world, as a child might from petticoats.
It was the feast of St. Yves a few days ago, and this 13th-century Breton priest and lawyer is remembered for justice, mediation and defending ordinary people against exploitation.
In times past people met beneath trees to settle disputes, proclaim laws and witness agreements; in NW Europe these were often the oaks, beech and lindens.
Yves might have enjoyed the shelter such a tree could offer against the driving Atlantic rain.
Weeping silver lime, 𝑇𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠𝑎, by the Etang de la Longue Queue, Solvay Park, La Hulpe. I suspect little justice was ever dispensed here.