After the stile, the footpath had to muscle its way through a crowd of saplings. The leaves, shivering in the wind, were easy to identify. Only aspens quiver like that. No wonder they’re also known as the shiver tree; it was as though a shudder was running through the little dell. The saplings’ coppery green foliage wasn’t the only thing shimmering; a nearby grove of mature aspens also waved in the wind. Even on still days aspens flutter; today, a blowy half-term afternoon, the trees clattered. Walking over a carpet of fluffy grey catkins cast by the mature trees, I approached the stand of large aspens.