Almost but not quite. The image has been looming on the desktop and housewifery has hit the computer screen. Why are they there? Simply because over and over again the simplicity of this planting strikes me as perfect. Lovely it is that there is nothing other than birches.
They are not planted in memorial garden manner. Instead they conjure the heath. The planting budget has been kept down by steering clear of multi-stemmed specimens. The trees, less than straight are close planted. Under a metre between them. And then they are uplit at night. Standing like ghosts in front of the huge bulk of the turbine hall of Tate Modern in London. Anyone visiting London should make a detour in winter to cross the glass bridge from St Pauls. The bridge takes you slap bang into these trees.
