Climber’s view of a horse chestnut tree

Stamford, Lincolnshire Rock you grasp, fighting its cold indifference. Trees you take hold of, hoist yourself into, embrace, balance on

At the end of last winter I noticed this tree: a slim, high horse chestnut on the edge of my town. In summer its leaves gave it an hourglass shape. September ignited it. October, I showed my daughter its spiky conker capsules and the flawless autumn-shine of what was inside. In November's first weeks I saw more of the sky through its branches each visit, its presence emaciating, the clarity of its skeleton crisping with every wintering day.