The gale drove a sheet of sleet over the dale. I ran for the nearest tree. Snug in the cosy protection of an ivy-clad oak, I watched the gusts lash the valley. I’d never seen this tree before, yet it felt instantly familiar, comfortable. Funny how we’re drawn to trees, and not just for shelter, firewood or because they clean our air. Something about them calms humans, gives a sense of proportion. Is it their age and size? Or the fact that we evolved from tree-living primates?