Archive for Wildflowers: Yellow

Before the Snow

Before the Snow . . .

Life, as in its daily living and responsibilities, has intervened between me and my heretofore regular forays into the urban natural world. I have been devoting more time to earning a living, which by its very nature prevents me from experiencing the city’s wilder life fully and freely, even though it continues to exist off the grid, figuratively, whilst on the grid, literally, of Manhattan.

My wife did take a rare personal day this past Thursday, so I did as well. After some mutual fun and adventure, I set off alone to enjoy the last hour of light before nightfall. I wandered down to Hudson River Park where I was rewarded with solitude, as a cold rain and wind had arrived, the vanguard of what may have turned out to be the final snowfall on this side of the year.

Inclement weather is the secret ingredient to a solitary outing in the city, and this one provided me with the opportunity to walk upon the compact damp tundra of the park’s grass and assume some of the odder observational poses of the nature lover – extended bends of the knees and stretches of the neck – without public embarrassment.

There was much to see. The steady rain had coaxed a lot of life from the slumbering ground of the winter season. Rich, pastel green patches of lichens covered many of the tree trunks and onion grass had sprouted around their bases. Along the edge of one small rise of ground I also found what I was most searching for – the first full blooms of the year; a patch of white feral croci of the family Iridaceae.

First flowers of 2013: feral Croci. (photo taken 03 07 2013)

First flowers of 2013: feral Croci. (photo taken 03 07 2013)

A few yards farther on, I found a single small Common Groundsel, Senecio vulgaris, in flower.

Common Groundsel at the base of a tree. (photo taken 03 07 2013)

Common Groundsel at the base of a tree. (photo taken 03 07 2013)

Near the end of my little hike, and the available natural light, I walked along a thicket of hedges and found one more hardy variety, a confident sign of spring: the Common Snowdrop, Galanthus nivalis, huddled at the base of some bushes.

Common Snowdrop in the bush. (photo taken 03 07 2013)

Common Snowdrop in the bush. (photo taken 03 07 2013)

I had only my smartphone available for photos on this brief, damp, and dimly lit outing, so the quality herein is not up to my usual standard, but the idea hopefully has been conveyed . . .

Once again there are wildflowers in the West Village.

– rPs 03 09 2013

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Late Bloomers

Late Bloomers . . .

December Dandelion: a single Taraxacum officinale blooms in Hudson River Park. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

December Dandelion: a single Taraxacum officinale blooms in Hudson River Park. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Hurricane Sandy did more than deprive the West Village of power. The late October storm also stirred up personal lives, including my own. First, there were the thirty block walks uptown to fetch a hot paper cup of coffee, followed by candlelit evenings huddled with my wife and two cats around a transistor radio. Later, there was the less dramatic resettling into normal routines, which for me included regular walks around the area to seek out and survey what flora might be growing wild in the West Village.

Today, set almost squarely in the middle of December, the city experienced daylight under a blue sky for the first time in more than a week. The good walking weather coincided with an abbreviated work day for me. I took the long path home, hiking about for over four hours with no firm plan except to pass through those spots where in the past I have found wildflowers: churchyards, construction sites, public housing green spaces, and Hudson River Park.

The results were surprising in their variety if not vigor. The fine lining to the overcast and wet weather is that this combination of environmental factors has pushed off an extended deep freeze, giving some of the more hardy perennials, both native and immigrant, some bonus time to bloom . . . late.

Along with the dandelion pictured above, I found:

Canada Thistle

Canada Thistle,Cirsium arvense. (photo taken 12 11 2012) (

Canada Thistle, Cirsium arvense. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Carolina Horsenettle

Carolina Horsenettle, Solanum carolinense. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Carolina Horsenettle, Solanum carolinense. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Common  Chickweed

Common Chickweed, Stellaria media. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Common Chickweed, Stellaria media. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Galinsoga

Galinsoga, Galinsoga parviflora. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Galinsoga, Galinsoga parviflora. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Groundsel

Groundsel, Senecio vulgaris. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Groundsel, Senecio vulgaris. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

White Snakeroot

White Snakeroot, Ageratina altissima. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

White Snakeroot, Ageratina altissima. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Yellow Woodsorrel

Yellow Woodsorrel, Oxalis stricta. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Yellow Woodsorrel, Oxalis stricta. (photo taken 12 11 2012)

Large, medium, or small; cool white, deep purple, or warm yellow: none of these wildflowers except cold-weather Common Chickweed displayed the rich green lushness of spring or high summer, but each one proved that, even in the urban northeast, there is more December color to be had than holiday evergreen, red, and white.

- rPs 12 11 2012

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Big and Bushy

Big and Bushy . . .

Marestail, Conyza canadensis, stands tall on Hudson Street. (Photo taken 07 2012)

After two vacations (to Connecticut and the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state), and several fishing trips, I have returned to my search for West Village wildflowers. Two examples quickly stood out because of their sheer big and bushy scale. One is Marestail, Conyza candensis, which appears by its numbers, lushness, and size to be at its seasonal peak. The other species is Common Mullein, Verbascum thapsus, a biennial that here must be in its second year of growth, as yellow blooms have begun to crown these stately plants. One especially attractive specimen is located just around the corner from my townhouse.

Common Mullein, Verbascum thapsus, blooms on Greenwich Street. (Photo taken 07 2012)

– rPs 07 29 2012

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Yellow Rockets Beside the Road

Yellow Rockets Beside the Road . . .

Winter Cress or Yellow Rocket, Barbarea vulgaris, in bloom at the end of Jane Street. (photo taken 05 18 2012)

The Brassicaceae, the mustards, are certainly one of the most successful immigrant wildflower families to have arrived and settled in the Americas. My study of these herbaceous plants has allowed me to more fully comprehend the point of Jesus Christ’s parable – the mustard seed equals ubiquity.

The first species I noticed residing in the West Village was Shepherd’s Purse with its gracefully-postured racemes and distinctive heart-shaped seed pods. The flowers of the biennial Garlic Mustard caught my attention for the first time last season. Most recently, as early as February, I found Hairy Bittercress, which turns out to be one of the first wildflowers to bloom in springtime New York.

The weather this spring season has been a bit out of sorts. April’s dry warm days have been replaced by May’s cool showers. This flip-flop of the traditional weather pattern has resulted in lush conditions. Some mornings, when I look out into the courtyard garden, the scene full of roses, azaleas, and hydrangeas fits the look of, if not the accepted definition of, a temperate rain forest.

The sheer amount, the sheer vigor, of the city’s blooming plant life has been impressive. I hoped to find a new species within all that green and pastel color, perhaps one somehow overlooked in the first two years of my West Village wildflower search. And I did; a new face appeared to my eye amongst the yellow wood sorrel, sow thistle, and dandelion set in a deep green bed of mugwort:

Winter Cress, Barbarea vulgaris

The showy racemes of this pretty plant are what give its presence away. The funny thing is I had seen it, a lot of it, before; I just didn’t know it. During trout season drives to and from fishing destinations, I had noticed numerous patches of yellow color along the roadsides. What I was seeing was not so much individual blooms like dandelions, daises, or thistles, but something akin to a golden mist or haze just above the grassline. I didn’t have an opportunity to stop for a close look, so I stored away my observations for future reference.

And then, this week, during a rare sunny day, I approached on foot the parklet located at the end of Jane and Horatio Streets on the western edge of Manhattan. What I saw, in scattered places, was similar to the yellow clouds I had seen along the roads in rural Pennsylvania and New York state. Compact rounded clusters that resembled a burst of fireworks frozen in mid-air. When I began my quest for a positive identification, I held that image in mind, which made me smile doubly wide when amongst my references I stumbled upon Winter Cress; its colloquial name is Yellow Rocket.

Rooted to the ground, Winter Cress has pinnately-divided, deeply-lobed basal leaves that if picked before the plant blooms make a reasonable, seasonable green. The stems are glabrous and support thin silique like other members of its species. Unlike the other Eurasian mustards I have found growing in the West Village, Winter Cress does not bloom white. The individual flowers are tiny, have four deep yellow petals, which are clustered in a half dozen or so terminal racemes that are tighter and rounder than other mustards, giving this biennial a bushier profile that conveys the shape of fireworks descending to earth.

An individual Yellow Rocket raceme reveals the bloom consists of multiple tiny flowers. Each one has four petals. (photo taken 05 23 2012)

– rPs 05 23 2012

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Wildflowers of the Winter Solstice

Wildflowers of the Winter Solstice . . .

Groundsel, Senecio vulgaris, blooms in the West Village on the Winter Solstice and, though wild, often grows in evenly-spaced patterns as if planted by a gardener. (Photo taken 12 22 2011)

“Mild.”

The 2011 Winter Solstice arrived like a lamb, to put it mildly. Manhattan enjoyed one of those calm, cool, balmy days that cultivate the impression of an indeterminate time of year; a kind of day that almost shouts for one to take the opportunity – the gift – to enjoy the outdoors before the traditional weather sets in, or roars in, for the season.

I listened to that call.

Outside and above, the sky resembled a portrait painting of multiple cloud types, including cirrus and cumulus, floating by at different levels of altitude, passing by at different rates of speed, forming a variety of picturesque motion patterns that took the sun in an exceptionally sparkling way during this shortest daytime of the calendar year.

Back on the surface, a short walk around the West Village revealed nature was still in an active phase. Gulls, mallard ducks, cormorants, brants, and Canada geese mingled along the Hudson River where several anglers squeezed in one last session of casting for striped bass.

Back on city land, many of the common wildflower species remained unfazed by last week’s first frost of the season. The basal rosettes of Sow Thistle, Dandelion, and Common Plantain were fresh and green, not deflated and gray as they were by this time last year. White Snakeroot, Common Chickweed, and Shepherd’s Purse remained in bloom in several sheltered spots.

Shepherd's Purse blooms beside a tree on a December day. (Photo taken 12 22 2011)

None of these plants could match the vigor and numbers of the winter annual Groundsel, Senecio vulgaris, a diminutive member of the Asteracaeae family. Just as the Dandelion will carpet lawns in spring, the Groundsel can proliferate in late fall. Find it thriving around the bases of trees and within the thinned out spaces of bare shrubs. Individual plants resemble a tiny evergreen bush and look so self contained as to appear planted by a gardener. The yellow inflorescences of this cosmopolitan ruderal never seem to open into full golden blooms like its springtime cousin, but it does go to seed in distinctive white balls that in combination with its sharply-lobed leaves look rather festive in light of the season.

Holiday Ornaments: Groundsel goes to fluffy seed like its other cousins in the Asteraceae family. (Photo taken 12 22 2011)

Happy Holidays . . .

– rPs 12 22 2011

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The Quest for the Goldenrod

The Quest for the Goldenrod . . .

Seaside Goldenrod (Solidago sempervirens) blooms near the corner of 10th Avenue and West 13th Street. (photo taken 10 26 2011)

Like some contemporary Pindar, I find myself reflecting on a recent experience that by its end had me feeling akin to Jason during his quest for the Golden Fleece. The prize in my case took the form of a species of goldenrod (genus Solidago) I discovered in bloom near the corner of 10th Avenue and West 13th Street. The quest was the search for an exact identification.

The goldenrod name applies to the Solidago, a large group of some one to two hundred distinct and native flowering plants, most of which bloom yellow gold in color beginning in late summer. From there opens a wide and diverse set of differences, which include:

Leaf shape and venation – Many goldenrod species have an aristate or ovate leaf with a dentate edge that resembles a serrated spoon, while others have more narrow lanceolate leaves, also serrated, but sometimes entire (completely smooth), often with three parallel veins, although some possess a single central one. A majority of these leaf structures and their supporting stems are hairy, but a few are glabrous (completely smooth). Some varieties sprout leaflets from the leaf axils where the primary leaf meets the stem.

Flower shape – Even the casual outdoor observer is familiar with the graceful, spreading, pyramidal panicles that, like golden ostrich plumes, decorate autumn roadsides. Widespread species such as the Canada Goldenrod exhibit this flowering form. Others have a stiffer, broad, horizontal inflorescence that from a distance resembles an upturned push broom; a few standouts bloom straight and narrow, resembling a golden wand.

The most common species of Solidago found in the New York region include the Canada Goldenrod (Solidago canadensis), Early Goldenrod (Solidago juncea), and Late Goldenrod (Solidago altissima). During my walk home from my wildflower encounter, I assumed a comparison of my close observations with the details of one of the above would give me a quick and easy identification. The example I had photographed was easy enough to describe in words. The plant grew from a basal rosette and possessed smooth lanceolate leaves with a single central vein. The leaves and the stem were glabrous and supported a panicle of flowers that upon close inspection possessed the distinctive calyx and daisy petal appearance, which in part explains why the goldenrods are included in the vast Asteraceae family.

The goldenrod's flower is actually a tight cluster of tiny, yellow, daisy-like blooms. (photo taken 10 26 2011)

Like Jason, I set sail – on the internet – and waded through my print resources and found a winding adventure. Each of the three common species of goldenrod possessed some, but not all, of the physical characteristics I had documented in my observations. The entire and glabrous leaves of my subject put Canada Goldenrod and Late Goldenrod out of contention. Early Goldenrod, my early favorite, has smooth leaves with a single central vein, but the example in question lacked leaflets at the leaf axils, so that species, too, was dropped from the list of candidates.

I continued to tread water until I found the website of the Connecticut Botanical Society. One of the features of this comprehensive online resource is a detailed advanced search function that allowed me to select several specific physical features into my search. The result produced twenty potential species, which by the end of my survey produced a clear standout –

Seaside Goldenrod (Solidago sempervirens)

Seaside Goldenrod has glabrous leaves and stems adapted to coastal salt spray conditions; it sprouts no leaflets at the leaf axils; it blooms in plumed panicles as late as November. The time, place, and physical description all fit; I believe I have found my golden fleece!

Like Jason, my quest became connected to the sea, in this case the Hudson River estuary. I have often used the phrase “where nature and the city intersect” as a central element of my artistic mission statement and here again is a vivid example of just such a meeting. Manhattan has undergone a massive transformation over the last three centuries, becoming one of humanity’s most consciously constructed areas on Planet Earth, yet still there remains the natural environment that continues to dictate what adaptations will allow an organism like the goldenrod to survive and thrive. Fresh salt air still permeates the west side of the island where in autumn the goldenrod, the Seaside Goldenrod, dressed in its hardy green leaves, blooms in a mellow gold plume, even in the contemporary stone, glass, and steel shadow of the West Village.

My Golden Fleece: The inflorescence of a Seaside Goldenrod. (photo taken 10 26 2011)

– rPs 10 28 2011

Postscript: The homepage of the Connecticut Botanical Society can be found at http://www.ct-botanical-society.org/

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The Breakfast Bloom

The Breakfast Bloom . . .

A patch of Butter-and-Eggs, Yellow Toadflax, Linaria vulgaris, blooms beside the bike path along the West Side Highway. (photo taken 09 17 2011)

The story of many immigrant wildflowers begins with imported seed that arrived laced with a hitchhiker, a plant variety that over time would go against the grain in a very different sense of the phrase. Once established in some New England field, the rest of the tale became the incremental spread of a European or Asian green immigrant from one blue sea to the other. Escaped and naturalized, some have become part of home remedies, regional folklore, even the incidental detail of fine artworks. Of these, one of the most notable, and beautiful, is what I like to call “the breakfast bloom” – Butter-and-Eggs, known also as Yellow Toadflax, Linaria vulgaris.

Yellow Toadflax is a perennial and a ruderal of European origin, which together explains the familiarity of this wildflower. One sees it appear every year as summer passes into autumn and the plant blooms in those under-grown areas where it can stand out such as roadsides, which is where I found a patch growing, and blooming, in the West Village: beside the bike path that parallels the West Side Highway.

This wildflower is easy to identify. The leaves are linear, thin and spiky, and alternate up the stem to the blooms. The individual flowers are irregular, end in a long spur, and are butter yellow with palates the color of egg yolks. There is a close resemblance to cultivated snapdragons. In fact, that is an apt comparison, as both belong traditionally to the figwort family, Scrophulariaceae. The snapdragon has been moved recently to another, Plantaginaceae, based on DNA sequence analysis, but like the snapdragon, the flowers of Yellow Toadflax grow in clusters, in terminal racemes, which can last a long time set in a centerpiece vase on the breakfast table.

A terminal raceme of blooming Yellow Toadflax, close up, reveals the Butter-and Eggs coloration. (photo taken 09 17 2011)

–  rPs 10 16 2011

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An April Shower’s Wildflowers

An April Shower’s Wildflowers . . .

A view of Prospect Park Lake in Brooklyn captures the cold colors of early April. (photo taken 04 10 2011)

 

The transition from winter to spring really does resemble the way a rainbow emerges from a storm. First, there is the monochromatic gray sky, opening up with wind and water until it begins to thin out. A hint of pale blue emerges, followed by the electrum sun and the full spectrum of visible light manifested by the prism of that same rainfall, now receding.

April 2011 followed this manner of blooming, at least in New York City. A season opening fly fishing trip to Prospect Park Lake in Brooklyn was accompanied by the somber colors of early spring. The lake itself was charcoal grey and surrounded by the tan stalks of last year’s cattails and the brown mesh of tree branches just beginning to bud. A week of cold rain followed. The spring season appeared to be as late as the Passover and Easter holidays.

When Easter Sunday did arrive, it turned into the first balmy warm day of the year. The humidity appeared in an instant, bumblebees filled the air, robins and purple finches trilled in the trees, which like the grounds all around town had gone a bright pastel green. The wildflowers, too, had arrived, including . . .

Chickweed (Stellaria media)

Chickweed (Stellaria media)

 

Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale)

Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale)

 

Ground Ivy (Glechoma  hederacea)

Ground Ivy (Glechoma hederacea)

 

Heartsease (Viola tricolor)

Heartsease (Viola tricolor)

 

Marsh Marigold (Caltha palustris)

Marsh Marigold (Caltha palustris)

 

Red Deadnettle (Lamium purpureum)

Red Deadnettle (Lamium purpureum)

 

Shepherd’s Purse (Capsella bursa-pastoris)

Shepherd’s Purse (Capsella bursa-pastoris)

 

Siberian Squill (Scilla siberica)

Siberian Squill (Scilla siberica)

 

Wild Violet (Viola papilionacea)

Wild Violet (Viola papilionacea)

 

The first act of Manhattan’s spring blooming is complete. The stage is now set for May’s flowers.

–  rPs 04 29 2011

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Earth Day 41 on the Fly

Earth Day 41 on the Fly . . .

 
 

A carpet of Marsh Marigold (Caltha pulustris) covers the banks of French Creek in Phoenixville, PA. (photo taken 04 22 2011)

 

Last year I celebrated the 40th anniversary of Earth Day by fly fishing in Manhattan’s Central Park. This year, because of the Easter and Passover holidays, my wife and I found ourselves in her hometown of Phoenixville, PA.

The urban angler, my literary alter ego (and primary job description), finds a home away from home in this attractive red brick steel town located in Pennsylvania’s Chester County. A tributary of the Schuylkill River, French Creek, flows just five blocks from the home of my wife’s parents. We began to fly fish there last year and discovered a fine and scenic fishery for brown trout, fallfish, and the ocassional smallmouth bass and sunfish.

No fish were encountered during this year’s inagural outing. The spring has sprung slowly here and the day progressed under a gray nimbus sky. A thin rain made conditions right for early season trout fishing, (low light, a sustained evening insect hatch), but the fish were not to be encountered along the stretch we explored with the dry fly, wet fly, and streamer. We did see some interesting bird species (tufted titmouse and belted kingfisher) and several varieties of blooming wildflowers, including the Marsh Marigold (Caltha pulustris) which I described last year as “The Fly Fisher’s Flower” . . .

http://wildflowersofthewestvillage.com/2010/04/15/the-fly-fishers-flower/

Happy Earth Day (#41) !

- rPs 04 22 2011

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The Easter Egg Effect

The Easter Egg Effect . . .

Easter Eggs: a group of Spring Crocus, Crocus vernus, emerge from the undercover on The High Line. (photo taken 03 14 2011)

 

The emotional appeal of wildflowers, especially those found growing in an urban setting, can to me be summed up in something I like to call “The Easter Egg Effect” – that feeling of excitement, instigated by discovery, akin to a child finding a pastel egg hidden within the grass in the backyard. I began Wildflowers of West Village just under a year ago after one such pivotal moment. I was walking with my wife on a pleasant Sunday afternoon on the first day of spring. The Hudson flowed to our right as the park on our left became bathed in the thin setting sunlight of the Equinox. My eye caught sight of a patch of pale blue Siberian squill flowering at the base of a tree. The rest of the surrounding parkscape remained primarily brown, so the presence of living color stood out even more distinctly. We headed home, feeling rejuvenated by the first visible sign of the natural world’s reawakening, and simultaneously the idea for a new nature writing project began to bloom.

This year I first felt The Easter Egg Effect on the opposite end of the Christian Lenten calendar; during its opening week, just after Ash Wednesday. I was out for a walk yet again, this time along a unique Manhattan greenway: The High Line, one of the most popular public destinations in the West Village. Once an abandoned elevated railroad spur, the former West Side Line was converted over a decade into a belt stretching from its terminus on Gansevoort Street north to West 20th Street. After opening in 2009, the response was immediate and enthusiastic. Flanked by impressive architecture like the Standard Hotel and Frank Gehry’s futuristic IAC Building, the park’s benches, art installations, and plantings attract models, rock stars, and tourists from around the globe. They can be found daily socializing as well as photographing and filming themselves, distant views of the Hudson River, and close up portraits of this unique urban green space, which also happens to be my front yard.

As a writer focused on outdoor sports and nature, I find it ironic that Fate has me residing around the corner from this premiere example of urban nature. Beyond that, the greenway provides me a quick and traffic-free route uptown. Often, to the bemusement of international tourists, I can be found carrying dress shirts and spare hangers in hand on the way to my dry cleaner on 18th Street. I like to think the sight of me going about my mundane daily business portrays me as a goodwill ambassador from the neighborhood, a reminder to visitors that regular people with daily lives – and chores – reside here, too.

So it was that during a run to the dry cleaners I caught sight of an initial sign of the impending spring: a pastel purple crocus, Crocus vernus, starting to flower beside the rust brown rails of the High Line. The blooms, still cupped and closed, even resembled colored eggs.

Crocus vernus sprouts from the repurposed railway of The High Line. (photo taken 03 14 2011)

 

Later in the week I found another variety, the Dutch Yellow Crocus, Crocus flavus, coloring the gardens of St. Luke in the Fields.

Dutch Yellow Crocus, Crocus flavus, blooming in the gardens of St. Luke in the Fields. (photo taken 03 13 2011)

 

Along the hedge line of Hudson River Park I found an entire croci community of white Crocus vernus about to flower.

A colony of white Crocus vernus about to bloom in Hudson River Park. (photo taken 02 28 2011)

 

While not wildflowers in the pure definition, most varieties in the Crocus genus have gone feral or become naturalized to the extent that the distinction between wild and cultivated has become blurred. The presence of their blooms in unexpected places – like an elevated railway or a corner of a vacant lot in Manhattan – appears like a shiny penny in the gutter, or a decorated egg in the backyard. Embodied in such sudden wild flowering, the joy of spring is evinced by The Easter Egg Effect.

 – rPs 03 14 2011

Postscript . . .

The High Line and Friends of the High Line maintain a website for more background information –  http://www.thehighline.org   – and remember, if you do visit, look don’t touch. As the sign says . . .

Sign on The High Line. (photo taken 03 14 2011)

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