There are times when rhymes and reasons conspire to produce circumstances that seem, not just reasonable, but imperative. We entered one such vibrationally resonant node as we reached the tee junction, on an otherwise uneventful amble, the other day. It suddenly became clear to us, that this day, the fates had decreed that we should walk all the way round the block – rather than turn around and retrace our steps as we usually would. Nothing loathe, putting all our faith in a benevolent, even beneficent, Universe – we set off.

We pottered along towards the tunnel in the railway embankment – waiting, hopefully, for a train. On this day however, there were no obliging trains, and we made our way through the tunnel. Naturally, we paused halfway to stamp and clap – to wake the echoes who spend most of their day dozing peacefully there in the gloom.

While dawdling close to the tunnel entrance, I came across this flower growing in the rivulet that flows alongside the road. I sent Google off to look around and see if he could find out what it was. He offered me three choices. Field Woundwort, Hedge Woundwort or Marsh Woundwort. As usual, all three looked identical. ‘Yes. But which one is it?’ I asked. He seemed quite hurt. Hadn’t he just spent 0.026 seconds finding me more than five million answers? Surely, I could pick one out of three on my own!

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