Vocabulary of wild flowers worth noticing for their story

Eastertide, and time for a longish walk-a-day for three days. We are promised blue skies and warm sunshine all over Ireland but it doesn’t happen here in West Cork.

Mornings are lovely but mist comes down as the day winds on. Gossamer veils creep across the view. The mist is like pixels on a hazy computer screen. Distances are foreshortened and even the near world becomes ghostly. But the sun breaks through in the late afternoon, and the morning resplendence returns, burnished, like old brass. As we set out from home, the beeches across the stream are, overnight, in new foliage. As we reach the lane long acres of the verges are bright with a vocabulary of wild flowers, a veritable vocabulary of buttercups, primroses, violets, daisies and dandelions, wild garlic and bluebells; they flower now in gay profusion whether they’re noticed or not.