Tuesday, June 18, 2013

More Things in Heaven and Earth

Another rainy day means the camera stays inside, providing an opportunity to revisit seven days of memorable vignettes not yet celebrated.

1. Tuesday, June 11.
A nightmare does not have to be large. Small, when it comes in the form of a robber fly, will do. Good thing I didn't know about these when I read Dracula. At 13, I knew vampires were a fiction, but . . . robber flies aren't. I have seen one in action. Three years ago, I watched a larger one snatch the Snowberry Clearwing Moth I had been admiring and photographing, then fly to a leaf just below my camera, and kill and feed on the beautiful moth.
2. Wednesday, June 12.
While strolling across the open sandy area at Lake Dimmick, I was torpedoed by a beetle missile. When this fellow hit me smack in the chest, I reacted impulsively, brushing it away. Poor thing: it startled me and I startled it. At least it paused long enough for me to get a good long look. Scarabs have nothing on this sparkly Goth bug whose proper name may be Western  Sculpture Pine Borer.
3. Thursday, June 13.
My Odonate mania began with one of these: a male Eastern Pondhawk.
Lime green. Turquoise. Any questions?

4. Friday, June 14.
I am never alone at the lake, and I am not the only animal who appreciates the view. Witness:

5. Saturday, June 15.
A day that begins with beautiful flowers is a day with sunshine, even in cloud-cover. At Saturday's Gardeners' Market, I arrived third among the vendors, much earlier than Carlene and her greenhouse blooms, which I always love shooting. I found these, however, at the edge of the gravel lot. Magenta, orange, greenish yellow, fringe, hairy stems -- what's not to like? The star of my day: a weed.
6. Sunday, June 16.
Amphibian-ness: floating among lilies, eyes glazed, head and back sunning, legs stretched. I love floating too: staring up at sky, feeling the water hold me, tension releasing like air from a balloon, but slowly, slowly, slowly. I'd like to be down there, with him, among blooms and bugs, half in shadow, half in light, suspended in loving the where I am.
7. Monday, June 17.
What must it be like to host parasitic water mites like tiny red pearls, clinging to every body crevice, even in this Swift Setwing's subgenital plate? How will she mate? How will her eggs be fertilized? The intruders, which cause no harm, are just looking for a ride. They're freeloaders, but don't they weigh her down?
8. Tuesday, June 18.
There are more things in heaven and earth, dear Reader,
Than are dream't of in your philosophy.

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