Early morning on Fisher Hill, when the light comes slantwise through a hundred years of oak and maple and the brick sidewalks are still dark with dew, Chilel's Brookline Tree Service is already looking up into the canopy. Their work is tree work in a town built around its trees — removals taken down limb by limb in tight dooryards, trimming and cutting that opens a crown back to good shape, stumps ground out until the lawn can close over the spot, land cleared where a property needs room to breathe. There is a real satisfaction in the after: the raked-clean grass, the sudden light on a north window, a street tree carrying its weight square through the next nor'easter. Along the Muddy River and up the ridge streets, the crews leave behind that particular Brookline order — old greenery kept well, and nothing out of place under it.