Dog Park Drop-in

Morning: warm-up in progress.

Fortunately, friendly dogs are more than happy to share their space.

Back to the Basics

Sometimes I forget how obsession started.

And then something like this happens:

stillness.

Loss

takes many forms.

There are, of course, other Blue Dashers,

just as there are other people here and others to be here.

And, yes, I know that insects aren't people.

But still:

each one lost . . .

Quite Challenging Indeed!

In answer to a question about cameras, a naturalist in one of my Facebook odonate groups wrote, " Macro photography is quite challenging and takes a lot of time to learn and master."

You got that right, I wanted to write but didn't.

The truth is that I like learning hard things, like my still-feels-new camera and still-newer macro lens. So far, both have outscored me in a contest of skill.

But today's morning foray and some cooperative odes provided a much more successful than usual shoot. I am beginning to think I should just use this lens and forget the other one. I am finally discovering the "sweet spot."

Every odonate enthusiast

loves taking photos of the Blue Dasher. I do, too.

And I'll bet you agree that it's easy to see why.

I Saw Some Odonates Today

They were beautiful. This one, for example.

But nowhere are beautiful as these people.



I will remember these long after I forget about odes.

What's in a Name?

A rose is a rose is a rose.

But a rose with a Blue Dasher on it is something else entirely.

See?

A Day Unlike Any Other

I tried to save this drowning Blue Dasher because I could.

While I was struggling to reach her with the longest branch I could find, while I was letting her balance on my finger and clean her face, while I admired her wild beauty and felt her light touch and knew her trust, I thought of the nine people murdered in Charleston, and of their families and friends and community, and of us Americans all, in a mad country, and was glad I could help at least one victim of unknown violence.

May all rest in peace.

Held in Reserve

There is about a lake walk in early morning a different pleasure, of solitude and silence, before those with cell phones or active dogs arrive. One runner, one walker, one frog, lots of birds, a few bugs, and me. A time to study light, admire the slowness and brilliance of its arrival.

A day spent afterwards inside is saved in this way by early morning, held in reserve.

That Kind of Day

when sky is so blue you remember if only a moment that it's only blue for us on Earth and not black and this blue is ultramarine and sun so bright it casts hard shadows all day sparkling water and burning fall leaves and grasses like dry ice, cool and hot colors all at once so creatures slip in and our like beach bathers only in search of heat not a tan, and my camera lens can't determine if there's too much light or not enough, and everything looks beautiful, especially the two Clamp-tipped Emeralds, those big dragonflies I see up close and personal for the very first time:

that's the kind of day it was.

Autumnal Equinox

9:29 PM CT tonight.

But fall has already begun with wind, cool temperatures, and a profusion of browns, reds, and golds.

It even brought a migratory visitor to Lake Dimmick. Though I can't prove it (because he never lit where I could find him), a Twelve-spotted Skimmer blew through, teasing me three times, diving right toward me and then soaring upward.

Other evidence do, however, prove fall's glorious jewel-like colors and defining shadows.

Let the fun begin!

Life-saving

In my everyday life, I rarely make a difference. I don't rescue people or dogs; I don't treat wounds in a hospital or argue cases in a court of law; I don't even talk to other people, sometimes for days in a row. 

But when I see a living thing struggling to live, I can't just walk on by.

I used to think Odonate life-saving was weird, but I did it anyway. Now, thanks to my Facebook groups, which include some of the big-name experts, I know that others share my "can do" attitude.

After I finally unstuck the spider-silk-strung wings (no easy task), the little fellow cleaned himself properly and then took off.

All in all, a job well done.

Flirtation

1.
My father flirted with everyone: little girls and boys, strangers and friends, peers and elders. He liked people, and he liked making them smile and laugh, and he liked being center of their attention. 

2.
The Blue Dasher, both male and female (like this one) flirt. I've never met a Dasher that didn't pose like a professional model. Flit up for a little something to nibble, re-perch, eat, and smile for the camera. Say "insect"!

3.
My father the dashing man and the Pachydiplax longipennis: flirts writ large.

Blues on Parade

Slaty Skimmer and Sky Water

Old Female Slaty Skimmer

Male Southern Spreadwing

Double-ringed Pennant

Male Amber-winged Spreadwing and Sky Water

Blue Dasher

There's Love and There's Love

1.
The Blue Dasher thrills me each year, especially the males with their clown-white faces and blue eyes, striped thoraxes like clown suits worn at an angle, willingess to engage by staring and tilting, seeming as if they could to wink and say, "Hey look at me! Aren't I something?"

Yes. You are.

I love the Blue Dasher.

2.
Campers, two young women (a couple I suspect), giggle in the hammock, their clothes spread to dry on the on a tarp, their food handily packed in water-proof bags, their tent opened for airing. Encamped a step only from the well-traveled path around the Lake, they intrude on the very thing they profess to love. But they do enjoy the natural world: they want me to identify a beetle photographed on a phone and I show them an Eastern Pondhawk.

They love Lake Cheston, too.

3.
I need to try to remember this.

Five Years and Counting

Five years.

1,748 published posts.

1,503 page views last month.

36,205 all time history page views.

These are a few of my blog's stats.

Some writers care about their stats, but I don't. Why? Because they say nothing important about my blog and my reasons for blogging.

What matters is this: I enjoy anticipating writing a post, spending the day attending to what happens; selecting a focus; exploring that topic; preparing the "snap," whether my own image or something I've borrowed (like a book cover); and then drafting, revising, editing, and publishing my work.

This blog is about what preoccupies me, not what might interest you, Dear Reader (if you are reading, then you are automatically "dear" to me).

Today, that interest is blue. Glorious blue. Blue sky, which we haven't seen in Sewanee in a long, long time. Blue Dasher, the abdomen a dusty hyacinth like the Crane stationery I once used for formal notes. The green-blue of the male Pondhawk, taking on his adult hue. The Slaty Skimmer's deep blue of a star-lit night, and the electric turquoise of a skink slung out on warm concrete.

Oh blue, how I have missed you.

Oh blog, how I have enjoyed you.

Here's to more of both for years to come.

Stillness

The friendliest face I saw today --

my distanct cousin,
the Blue Dasher,
not dashing,
just hanging,
letting me get to know him.