Wenlock Edge Each flower on the spike is a little pink cutout of a figure, perhaps an effigy of a person our news never mentions
Up on the Windmill there are more pyramidal orchids than I’ve ever shaken a stick at. Singly or in stands of up to 50 in a stride, they scatter across the hill meadow. Their name suggests the sacred geometry of the Egyptians or Incas, but they appear as blobs of absurd colour.
From lilac purple, through cerise to baby pink Anacamptis pyramidalis flowers are domed or conical and have the foxy scent of a rebel. Their leaves are largely lost in a meadow thatch where bees and moths are taking refuge, slow to emerge; a few dithery grass moths and a bumble or two lift the spirits.
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Source: Guardian Environment