Jul 122014
 

At the end of my evening walk, the sun was low in the sky, perhaps a half hour before sunset.  Walking back toward Rico Rd., my attention was caught by a shriveled brown leaf lying on the grass.  I got down onto the ground with my camera at ground level, and started to explore its possibilities as a screen for Balinese shadow play.  (For those unfamiliar with Balinese shadow puppet theater, here is a great website on the topic.)  The result is a tiny landscape of shadow, color and texture, created by the various shadows on the leaf, a grass blade standing just in front of it, and the textures and colors of the leaf itself.  How many such miniature worlds of the imagination do we pass by every day?

 

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Jul 112014
 

On this morning’s walk, I also encountered a moth and a butterfly.  Both were unassuming — the moth just a flutter of brown whose wings I never even got to see, and the butterfly with bright yellow wings that were less than an inch across.  The little yellow butterfly is, in fact, a Little Yellow Butterfly  (Eurema lisa).  For lack of identifying features in my photograph, I will call the moth a Little Brown Moth.  Who knows?  That could be its name, after all.

 

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Jul 112014
 

Last night’s sunset was spectacular, a pyrotechnic display of vivid colors and dramatic clouds.  Dogs in tow and camera at home, I missed the opportunity to photograph it.  So I am gratified that I actually got up this morning to the alarm (at an hour I won’t confess, since many are already en route to work by then) and decided to set out for Piney Woods Church Road despite overcast skies.  The reward was a dense fog that offered marvelous photographic opportunities.  The spider webs were festooned with misty droplets; looking through them to the trees beyond, they cast a diaphanous veil upon the scene.

 

Diaphanous Veil

Jul 102014
 

I ventured out to Piney Woods Church Road today between rainstorms.  It was wonderful to see water everywhere — in shallow puddles on the roadbed, in droplets on leaves, and suspended from twigs like this one.  The humidity was amazing — I dripped as much as the vegetation did — and quite a few insects were about, including an odd little treehopper or leafhopper that I am still trying to identify.  Heading toward Hutcheson Ferry Road, I advanced into a mix of blue sky and clouds.  Returning toward Rico Road, I headed into a gray cloud.  The rain began while I was on Rico Road, just about to turn up my driveway.  But for the most part it was a gentle, nourishing rain, a rarity in these Southern summer months.

 

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Jul 092014
 

On my way to Piney Woods Church Road today, I paid more attention than usual to Rico roadside.  Part of that was self-preservation — cars and trucks were flying by at near-lightning speeds, drivers miles away, ensconced in their own words.  Part was because I was looking for a wildflower I had seen the day before, and even after locating it, I maintained my same level of attention to my surroundings.  The result was a delightful discovery of a white and creamy yellow moth, about an inch long, motionless in plain view.  Later I learned that this particular moth, a Delicate Cycnia or Dogbane Tiger Moth (Cycnia tenera) feeds on dogbanes and milkweeds as a caterpillar, taking into its body the same cardiac glycoside that makes Monarch Butterflies immune to predators.  With little to fear from the skies, this particular moth did not so much as twitch, even when I drew my camera up close to take this photograph.

 

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Jul 092014
 

Over the past few months, since the trees have come into leaf along Piney Woods Church Road, I have been noticing Evidence for Elves.  As I glance at the saplings of sweetgum and tulip poplar that line the roadway, I can quickly find a dozen leaves with holes in them, and fascicles (bundles) of loblolly pine needles suspended from each hole.  Clearly, something has been putting a lot of energy into using pine needles as needles, poking holes in leaves with them and then letting them hang suspended, like a half-hearted attempt at an Andy Goldsworthy sculpture.  The prosaic explanation, of course, is that the wind dislodges the pine needles from high up in the trees, and the velocity they obtain as the fall due to the acceleration caused by gravity is sufficient for them to pierce holes through any leaves they might encounter on their downward trajectory.  The result is mysterious in a relatively subdued way — hardly akin to Stonehenge, and not overly photogenic, for that matter (the image below is my best attempt).  Still, I find the windfall model entirely unsatisfying.  It is far too prosaic.  I much prefer the image of elves wandering the countryside, bored because no one believes in them or pays attention to them anymore, filling their spare afternoon hours by poking holes in leaves with bundles of needles, leaving their handiwork behind as a sign of their passage.

 

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