Summer's Sunset (SWF)

Summer's Sunset

Orange Sulphur on Queen Anne's Lace at sunset

There is a sense of waiting, as if suspended over a great space—
the final weeks of summer hang, so still and expectant.
This field, now empty of swallows, gone, as large flocks congregate and pass across the skies above the tree line, their backdrop, the tumbling clouds pushed ahead of what would be a welcome change.

I visit the gum grove, where, in other years I have found the wheel bugs, poised at the edge of the star-shaped leaves, patient for their prey--and curious of my camera. But, this year, do not find them.
A mantis hangs patiently instead, her strong forelegs grasping what had been a honeybee, drawn to the periwinkle blue of the chicory, fallen face-forward in gentle boughs across the grassy path. She munches her softly furred find, turning her alien head and sidestepping with the grace given her in four long, slender legs, behind the knotty stem.
Except for the intermittent drone of the cicada, all is quiet here.
The stillness, deep and discernible.
The giant hush has fallen.

Black and Yellow Garden Spider, Argiope aurantia

At the edge of the pond--a new development, broad and billowing, to span 14 inches of prime, waterfront property.
In the center, waits a spider, her brilliant body etched in black shadow, riding an almost imperceptible breeze forward and falling slowly back.
A teneral dragonfly has taken her first breaths here, out of water, while her soft wings wait for readiness to fly.

Garden Spider, Argiope aurantia and Eastern Pondhawk, Erythemis simplicicollis

Clever, waiting one,
to catch the winged dragon,
one need not have wings.

See more Skywatch here.

Afterglow

By dusk, the white blanket has begun to settle in.
From every creek bed, it pours out onto the broad, low pastures to hang, swirling inches above the ground, turning and curling, before piling up in a soft drift and spilling over the ridge into the field beyond.
Quiet and cool, it is left to soothe the spaces this August heat has seared.
In the dark, I’ve walked here with a light—the air thick with katydid and frog song, my hair absorbing the soupy air until it gathers into drops that trickle down my face. Oozing richness and heavy with the frenzy of life on a summer night.


By morning, with the sun on its heels, it quickly rushes off, leaving nothing to hint of its reveling--
except a few broken strands of beads on the finest threads.

(click to enlarge)

Dew on seeds of Wild Lettuce

By mid-morning, the sun had erased all the dew, and its heat and brightness chased all but the hardiest deep into the woods to stay cool.
I was surprised to find this little Spring Peeper still here, though quiet, contentedly sitting on the leaf of a milkweed, shaded by another overhead. He had found the perfect perch from which to watch this summer morning.

Fourth Grade (SWF)

I remember school days, early fall, and a heat on the playground so fierce that, once back inside the classroom, the teacher would tell us, “Heads down all around”—
the cold, flat desktop, a cool cloth placed on 30 sweaty heads and faces reddened with the racing games of 9-year-olds at recess.


Across the darkened room, rows of bowed heads on bent forms waited, silhouetted against the bright light of the windows, as teacher rustled through papers at her desk or her footsteps slipped out the door and trailed off down the hall, gathering things for class.


From beneath my elbow in the quiet room, I could see others’ eyes straining to find her, their cheeks firmly glued to the wonderfully cool slab. And one curious head, lifting and looking for a moment--before finding teacher’s eye and relaxing again onto the calming surface.
Until, with all rested and settled quietly to begin, she moved to the doorway and turned on the light.



Every head lifts and turns—
and follows her path around the room.

Morning dew
on spider web suspended from a sunflower

See more Skywatch here.

Promises, promises, promises...

Spring has kept her promise in two days’ heavy rain.
Unlocking the green on every branch,
nudging the graceful stems rising--topped with fat bundles, ready to burst.
And even in such a simple act as a stroll across the yard,
I can sense with every soft step, the fullness—
abundance waiting to be coaxed from the earth.

I walked on the night between them,
when a break in the clouds drew me up and out into the night air. With my flashlight catching every clean droplet, in colors so strong, wet beneath rain. Only the finest mist hung low, then, over the field, a lacy shawl gently wrapped around bare shoulders.
And, into a night sprinkled with stars, I stood between 2 owls calling.

Stepping out again the next morning, into a brief patch of sun, I find I was not the only one, busy in last night’s darkness. All across the field, wound thickly on tall brown stems, the work of small sheet-weaving spiders, snagging small drops from the heavy morning mist, setting this table with its finest.

A Collection of Bowl and Doily spider webs,
Frontinella communis

all photos click to enlarge

And, in the pools, the promise kept, of life’s return each spring.
From those who walk without a worry,
while I worry they will not walk.

Salamander egg masses in Little Pond Pool,
in different stages of embryonic development

Webs on Autumn Olive

Phoebe behind Pond

Get rich quick!

I’ve been overlooking the obvious--
an opportunity for a lucrative home business, right in my own back yard, just steps from my own back door! And, though I haven’t thoroughly explored this goldmine, from what I have seen, I have quite an ambitious work force already in place.
Imagine the possibilities!
No job is too big…none too small.


Now, to write a business proposal and grab a catchy name.
Web design—everybody’s doing it!

Misty Morning

Field at dawn with spider web

I approach the misty field with the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning.
Last night a spider was at work here.
And I know now where I will find her.

single strand of silk across path

I watched as she laid down the spokes of a giant wheel, scrambling back and forth from the center to each edge. A framework on which to build--the finest silk strands anchored firmly.
Barely seen, yet perfectly placed.
Then wound them ‘round and ‘round.
And the field slipped into darkness.

Orb weaver web heavy with dew

The heaviness of a late summer’s day is left here by this cool morning. Draped like a cord of small white lights, twinkling in the first rays of sun.
The finest glass beads along each thread, bend but do not break it.



Until, with the rising light they vanish.
And the magic of a misty morning is gone.

our tree draped with lights
Christmas morning 2007

Awesome Arachnid

What a difference a few inches makes.
I came around the corner quickly, and, had it not been for a slight breeze that rippled these silken strands, I’d not have seen her here, by the Hawthorn at the edge of the woods.
Stopped dead in my tracks by an odd looking creature in a wild get-up.
Pleased not to find her in my hair.

Her web, her masterpiece.
Spanning a two foot expanse, an orb—with 50 revolutions to its spiral if it has one.
She rests in the very center, shaded by the trees overhead, and scurries up a strand as I approach.


Her large spined black and white abdomen perhaps to confuse a would-be predator.
Though her flamboyant fashion sense, I question.
Black would be more slimming.
She must be the artsy type.

Spined Micrathena, female
Click photos to enlarge.

Small world

I was in the very midst of them and hadn’t even noticed.
The finest spun creations, that from my standing position, seemed to be no more than sparkling masses in the grass--catching the morning sun.


On my hands and knees, it is quite different. For when I enter their world, what was without form from a distance, immediately reveals its beauty. Each no more than a couple inches across and designed by an artist the size of my freckle, I settle in and watch.
A visitor to the colony of the tiniest orb-weavers imaginable.

Last night’s dew hangs on each cord. Strings of pearls, draped perfectly from stem to stem with such weight, they look as if they should break.
And at the center, the artist himself—a small, red spider.






Only one is working this morning—scampering with such speed, round and round. And in the few minutes I watch her, lays down 4 rings of fine thread, each precisely placed from the last. I hope she is just an early riser inspired by the morning sun and is not frantically replacing a web my foot unknowingly destroyed.



What does she hope to catch in this tiny round web, aside from the sun and drops of dew?
There are many other residents of her very small world.

small grasshopper

small praying mantis drinking dew drop

small American Toad


Click on images to enlarge.