loves taking photos of the Blue Dasher. I do, too.
And I'll bet you agree that it's easy to see why.
Showing posts with label dragonfly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dragonfly. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
About Those Cliches . . .
I
Dog is supposed to be "man's best friend."
The red dog isn't exactly my friend. For one thing, she's not my dog.
For another, just as I was opening my camera, turning it on, and focusing on the two enormous horse flies that landed on my car when I parked, the dog -- who had been in the far distance -- jumped up to the window and hit it with her paws, as if to say, "Hey, lady walker! What are you waiting for!?!"
And again she followed me and spent two hours with me, often pushing right through the stems where I was watching the spreadwings.
WhenI we left, I saw we encountered two Sewanee students who giggled and petted the dog, complimenting me. "Oh, she's not my dog," I said, "but she follows me when I come to out to Dimmick. Maybe she'll follow you too!"
They giggled again, and offthey all three went, the red dog happily smiling at the bikinied girls.
Today the red dog spoiled my only potentially great shot.
Today she seemed as just as happy to see strangers as she had been to see me.
So much for the cliche.
II
Whoever said "light as a feather" had never held a dragonfly exuvia.
Honestly.
Dog is supposed to be "man's best friend."
The red dog isn't exactly my friend. For one thing, she's not my dog.
For another, just as I was opening my camera, turning it on, and focusing on the two enormous horse flies that landed on my car when I parked, the dog -- who had been in the far distance -- jumped up to the window and hit it with her paws, as if to say, "Hey, lady walker! What are you waiting for!?!"
When
They giggled again, and off
Today the red dog spoiled my only potentially great shot.
Today she seemed as just as happy to see strangers as she had been to see me.
So much for the cliche.
II
Whoever said "light as a feather" had never held a dragonfly exuvia.
Honestly.
The holder could close her eyes and never know it's there.
Take it from me.
I should know.
So much for the cliche.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Somethin's Cookin'
1.
Tea at 6 AM. A zipping sound. The cats. With a paper ball. Or so I thought.
Tea at 7:50 am. Zapping joined by a tell-tale burning smell. I followed my nose to the socket where the phone plugs. Warm to the touch, hot even. I pulled out, flipped the breakers.
Forty-five minutes late, the electrician replaced this with a new one.
"It could have been happening all night," I said.
"It could," he said.
"Is this the kind of thing that burns a house down?"
"No," he said. "It'd burn itself out and trip the breaker."
An electric start to the day.
2.
A walk around the lake. A dragonfly nymph emerged from the water; a spider attacked it almost immediately. The dragonfly fought to climb the grass stem anyway, a hopeless struggle to reach its final stage of life. A hand's width to the right, a Lancet Clubtail warmed on a leaf; an arm's length to the left, a young Fragile Forktail did the same. I watched all three in morning light, flooding the scene, Act I and III with no II.
"What are you looking at?" one of the walkers asked.
"Here, look where I'm pointing," I said, and walked the few feet further on. "See the dragonfly?"
The other walker said, "Wow," but the first looked straight down toward the water instead of underneath.
"Move your hand gently," I said, "so you don't touch the dragonfly. Then look under."
"Oh! Now I see it! Cool!"
They smiled and thanked me before walking on.
4.
Before locking the shop, I thought I'd take a couple more shots. And finally, something clicked. A macro that works.
5.
As I used to tell students about writing, "First make a mess. Then see what you can do with it." That's what I did all day today: 300+ messes I made (and one near-miss mess electricity made) and a couple of shots worth saving.
Tea at 6 AM. A zipping sound. The cats. With a paper ball. Or so I thought.
Tea at 7:50 am. Zapping joined by a tell-tale burning smell. I followed my nose to the socket where the phone plugs. Warm to the touch, hot even. I pulled out, flipped the breakers.
Forty-five minutes late, the electrician replaced this with a new one.
"It could have been happening all night," I said.
"It could," he said.
"Is this the kind of thing that burns a house down?"
"No," he said. "It'd burn itself out and trip the breaker."
An electric start to the day.
2.
A walk around the lake. A dragonfly nymph emerged from the water; a spider attacked it almost immediately. The dragonfly fought to climb the grass stem anyway, a hopeless struggle to reach its final stage of life. A hand's width to the right, a Lancet Clubtail warmed on a leaf; an arm's length to the left, a young Fragile Forktail did the same. I watched all three in morning light, flooding the scene, Act I and III with no II.
3.
Underneath the metal edge of the bridge, a dragonfly held and spun in the wind."What are you looking at?" one of the walkers asked.
"Here, look where I'm pointing," I said, and walked the few feet further on. "See the dragonfly?"
The other walker said, "Wow," but the first looked straight down toward the water instead of underneath.
"Move your hand gently," I said, "so you don't touch the dragonfly. Then look under."
"Oh! Now I see it! Cool!"
They smiled and thanked me before walking on.
4.
Before locking the shop, I thought I'd take a couple more shots. And finally, something clicked. A macro that works.
5.
As I used to tell students about writing, "First make a mess. Then see what you can do with it." That's what I did all day today: 300+ messes I made (and one near-miss mess electricity made) and a couple of shots worth saving.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Swan Song
I
This dragonfly nymph hauled itself out of the water, scuttled across the bridge abutment, and insisted on tucking itself into a tiny crack between stones. How, I wondered, would it ever survive.
I returned in late afternoon and had to scrape out the sodden odd remainders. It appears my fears may have been well founded.
II
For the last week, my camera's sensor has begun failing. Four good shots, then a white one or two. Then I turn the camera off, turn it on, and it might work again, or not. Ten percent, then twenty the rate of failure.
Two G12s. Two complete failures. The first in fall, the second in spring, just when Odonates appear.
III
Alas, for spring's losses.
This dragonfly nymph hauled itself out of the water, scuttled across the bridge abutment, and insisted on tucking itself into a tiny crack between stones. How, I wondered, would it ever survive.
I returned in late afternoon and had to scrape out the sodden odd remainders. It appears my fears may have been well founded.
II
For the last week, my camera's sensor has begun failing. Four good shots, then a white one or two. Then I turn the camera off, turn it on, and it might work again, or not. Ten percent, then twenty the rate of failure.
Two G12s. Two complete failures. The first in fall, the second in spring, just when Odonates appear.
III
Alas, for spring's losses.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Lake Cheston ABCedarian Day 10: K
K for Knowledge
A slow walk around the lake today finally offered one reward: an emerging Springtime Darner (Basieaeshna janata). Unlike last year, and the year before, and the year before, and the year before, I knew its name and sex, and I knew how to look for one. Knowledge is power.
Monday, August 20, 2012
In Good Company
Confession: I'd rather spend ten minutes with a Halloween Pennant under a wide blue sky than ten minutes with most people I know.
At least, that's what I'd say today.
And, please: pass no judgments.
At least, that's what I'd say today.
And, please: pass no judgments.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
There Are Limits
beyond which I wouldn't . . . well . . . go.
A friend alerted me to this video, which offers the most amazing view of dragonfly eating. It also shows the lengths to which well-meaning people might go.
Were I to meet the woman, I would ask questions. Are you certain the dragonfly can't fly? (I've seen plenty of them fly with one or two severely damaged wings.) When you picked up the clubtail, how did you make sure you wouldn't injure the wings? (I can't help thinking they're crunched in the palm of her hand somehow.) Did you keep feeding the dragonfly throughout its life span?
I thought I was a bit cuckoo.
Until I saw this.
A friend alerted me to this video, which offers the most amazing view of dragonfly eating. It also shows the lengths to which well-meaning people might go.
Were I to meet the woman, I would ask questions. Are you certain the dragonfly can't fly? (I've seen plenty of them fly with one or two severely damaged wings.) When you picked up the clubtail, how did you make sure you wouldn't injure the wings? (I can't help thinking they're crunched in the palm of her hand somehow.) Did you keep feeding the dragonfly throughout its life span?
I thought I was a bit cuckoo.
Until I saw this.
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