Nature's Place

Another Dozen …

… or so.

Let’s begin with this little beauty. Orb Weaver, almost invisible wrapped around the end of a rose stem. Waiting for the night to unfold.

*Click on the pictures for a proper look …

From behind and upside down, was the only option. Wonderful patterning, as if by design. She is well dressed indeed.

I disturbed her so she shifted position and then upside down was all there was. Using a piece of paper to reflect flash up.

A Hopper in the afternoon, same young tree as the Sawfly – a very busy tree through the year. Seems to be sucking some sap.

Little Johnny, baby Hopper, still some growing to do. As long as one is careful a few shots can be had in the open.

Broadside view of the adult. Aren’t they wonderfully adorned, by nature. Life comes in with the knowledge of that form and blooms.

And then today …

… this fella? came into view. Hadn’t seen him before and he wasn’t comfortable. The whole family were on that branch, to and fro.

At some point he tried to get away so I gave him my hand and he climbed on. Then he stopped to taste me, but not for long …

Another Hopper, big cream eyes and bright green body. She always sees me. We do a dance until she gives in and stops for a shot.

Gecko, hunting by night. Smiley little thing, as long as your not small enough to fit in its mouth. Ravenous creatures … endless appetite.

From the rain-forest, bright eyes. Flits from place to place and stops for god knows what, for a shot. Thank you fly, thank you life.

This is rotated a-c. It locked on and lay a thread at waist to keep it from bending too far – or so it bends appropriately – while it turns, from a caterpillar into a moth? See the impression of eyes, antennae sweeping back and the broad wings beneath.

The odd lady out. A flower filled with water, Morning Glory after the rain. But, but … what’s that over bottom left. Springtails?

A focus of being unnamed, in sense unfiltered, a sea of wild mutable form undying, rising and falling with the vitality of the sun to the pulse of the moon.

The small things don’t reel from the past nor dream of a future, their light undimmed, shining as pure sensation, inside.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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