telling tales

Walking along by the canal the other day, I paused to take a photograph of what I initially thought was a bee.

This meant stepping off the path a little, and I waited to one side as a dog walker was coming along in the opposite direction. He could see that I was taking photos and told me to watch out for an orchid that was in bloom some twenty yards back along the way he’d come.
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threads of memory

At this time of year, the rural hedgerows and urban edgerows froth with white lacy flowers.

I’m not sure I know the difference between cow parsley and cow parsnip, wild carrot and hogweed, chervil and hemlock, or a host of other white-flowered umbellifers, but they always trigger a singsong voice in my head:

Queen Anne’s lace, Queen Anne’s lace,
You’ll find it growing all over the place

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again and again

We humans are creatures of habit. We are comforted by familiarity.

We visit the same places, we think the same thoughts, we tell the same stories; and – if I’m anything to go by – we take the same pictures again and again.

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overlooked

daisy
They forecast sunshine for today, so I was slightly surprised to wake in the night and hear rain prickling against the window. Later, when I got up it was absolutely pouring down.

It cleared up, though, and by the time I was ready to go out it was bright and sunny, and well worth taking my camera along.
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