Hairy rhubarb? Spiders' legs?

I went down to the woods for the first time in weeks. The ground is awash with primroses, golden saxifrage, wood sorrel and anemones. But in the end it was these rubicund stems that caught my interest. Not that they are the slightest bit unusual being simply the undercarriage of the yet-to-bloom Herb Robert, one of the commonest so-called weeds,  able to attach its shallow roots wherever there is a smidgen of soil in which to cling.
Like all members of the Geranium family this is 'an hairy plant' and it was that aspect I wanted to capture. Plant hairs, known to botanists as trichomes, have a number of functions: their texture can deter grazing or nibbling, they can provide traps or impediments to wandering insects, they can capture a protective layer of warm air, and they can prickle, sting or release strong smells. That's what they do here: touch the plant and you instantly get a waft of odour, variously described as foxy, mousey, gingery and generally unpleasant, "a lothsome stinking smell "  according to the 16th century herbalist John Gerard and hence one of its many names 'Stinking Robert'. Funnily enough I have never found its pungency repellent but rather  affectionately redolent of  early childhood rambles with my father when I first learnt to identify plants and flowers. (This recognition is so hard-wired in me that I suspect I could do so without the benefit of sight at all.)    

There's much more that could be said about Geranium Robertianum : its nomenclature and its medicinal usage in particular,  but that will have to wait for another day.  However, in researching the plant  I discovered that William Wordsworth had devoted an entire poem to it, seemingly struck, as I was, by the striking effect of its red stalks and its ability to live on the margins. I'm not sure I fully agree with his all sentiments but the poem, Poor Robin, is here if you want to read it.