Nature's Place

That small ant is about one centimetre long. It and a couple of mates were push/pulling the dead fly for a few minutes while I watched. Where do they get the strength? Such determination. Will.

I wonder if ants grow old. I’ve never seen one limping or leaning on a stick. If an ant is injured I bet that’s it for him. Off to the knacker’s yard.

More likely he’s eaten by something. That’s nature’s way. Weakness is not tolerated for long.

Here’s another kind of fly. A zebra fly. How do I know the name? I make them up, so I can’t be wrong. It has stripes like a zebra and it’s a fly, so it’s a zebra fly.

Look at those wrap around eyes. Not much escapes his attention, sitting there under the open sky. Not waiting for the next thing to happen.

A breeze stirs the grass. A bird passes overhead. A man with a hat on comes into view and blocks out most of the horizon. But no danger yet.

Then he points a big black box at me and I see my self for the first time, only I don’t know what it is I’m seeing. Just an image in a surface on a big black box.

Something passing through my globular vision.

Click, click, click. And he’s gone.

No idea what he did after that.

Hot chilli flower. I’ve tasted one of the chilli’s these flowers are the mother of and they are hot hot. I could not have it in my mouth for more than a second or two before I had to spit it out.

But obviously the flower is not hot like the fruit it produces or the bee would be heading for the water, steam rising from her head.

The bee just went on her way, visiting all the flowers she could find.

Buzzing here and there collecting the gold for the hives honey.

Beautiful bee. Gentle bee. Industrious bee. Unrelenting bee.

Thank you for the honey bee.

Warbling in the morning, singing up the day. This one loves his voice. Black and white song of a string of bubbles bursting in the deep well. Echoing up to the ear inside. Musical bird.

He was just walking around me at Brunswick Heads the other day. Keeping an eye on me, but unafraid. Looking for the odd tidbit.

The pied magpie has started singing in the morning at the house. One sings here, another responds over there. A harmony. Lovely mellow sound of varied notes rising and falling, here and there, as a tune.

Expressions of bird. Simple blue song. Inside.

All Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery