It’s like John Wick – unless you know the history, you are just looking at a brooding, pretty façade. But under the sempiternal glow of the autumn sun falling unfiltered through a cloudless sky, even the air beholds the sprawling regalia with a breathless stillness. In the boughs and boles, even those afar, one detects a hushed awe. With name and genus tags though they all look very business-like, they have wilfully succumbed to the glory in their midst. Look at the branches of the Weeping Fig for example –