For me that’s a major aspect to witchcraft and indeed obeah, the serving of people when they have nowhere or no one else to turn to and it’s here where the lines between healing plants and harmful plants become blurred.

I’m not going to lie, I ummed and ahhed about publishing this piece, a writing about plants. I thought in this time of turmoil, such a topic so seemingly mild as plants might not be the most pressing of issues and so almost didn’t write this. But then I thought again. Plants, whether in the garden or in the wilds soothe the soul and make all the world's ills seem less, if only for the few moments you are immersed in their environment. Sometimes we need to take time away from the front-line, if only to heal, replenish.

To be honest, I still get knots in my stomach when I eat wild plants at a dinner, sometimes even when I’ve picked them myself. A little voice in my head still asks me, “are you really sure?”

Where does this anxiety come from exactly?

Yellows, purples and deep blues flit by, easily missed by most, or seen and unseen, scenery and nothing more. The beauty of the wildflowers, their existence forgotten if noticed at all and all before they’ve disappeared from view. All of this glimpsed as I stare out the window, seeking something other than the endless roads stretching ahead lined with traffic spewing fumes, the endless grey of industry and business.