A short while ago I was driving past Peckham Rye, when my eye was caught by a series of white halos on the grass under some of the trees...
A short while ago I was driving past Peckham Rye, when my eye was caught by a series of white halos on the grass under some of the trees. It looked as if several small snow storms had targeted some of the larger and more handsome specimens across the park. Not all of the large trees had been affected, but those that had, stood out in their own circular white carpets. Very strange.
I pulled into the short access road and hurried off to the nearest affected tree, a large and prominent black poplar standing proud in the middle of the mown grass. And suddenly all was made clear. They were all black poplars, and the white surround was the fluff produced by the female catkins.
Normally this powdery wisp carries off the small seeds into the wind and away. But on this day the air was preternaturally still, not a gust, not a puff, not a whisper disturbed tree leaf or grass blade. As each gossamer white thread was released by the tree, instead of lifting off into the breeze, it simply dropped to the ground, and the grass beneath was thick with the stuff.
Not surprisingly, the phenomenon was short-lived. The next day was hardly blustery, but air was moving and the white circles were gone.
