Richard Williamson's Nature Trails, December 8.

Autumn haunts the hedges with her red, red lips, enticing redwings that have fled the sombre northern forests of Russia. Autumn spills her drops, inviting succulent feasting of her abandoned blood, for blood is life again for others, and for herself as seed that comes again next year.

Looking through a hedge in spring, seeing the phallus shafts of Arum maculatum, I can in my mind's eye already see the seed in red rampant display that will be on offer next September for whatever cares to take it: slug, mouse, bird or badger. They were Willy's lilies to our ancestors, standing upright in their sheaths in the spring, ready and waiting (but not for too long) for propagation.

For others, they were Cows and Bulls, or Lords and Ladies, or Jack in the Pulpit. Jack, or Robin or Tom were the little people to the medievals, not really seen, but certainly always there, watching and finding fun with slow humans. There were many which carried, and still do, the imagined contact, such as Jack-by-the hedge (Goat's beard), Robin-run-the-hedge (ground ivy), Robin redbreast, even Herb Robert and Little Robin, the wild geraniums in the crane's bill family: all associated with Robin Goodfellow and Puck, Shakespeare's mischievous goblin.

Richard Williamson's Nature Trails appear every week in the WSG. To read the full version of this article, see December 8 issue.

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