Nature's Place

Fly Time 2

On that paperbark tree, where big little creatures can be found in peril for their life. … It looked like a wasp at first, just the colours.

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Maybe it’s something about the other creatures that inhabit the tree, or that parasitise it, that causes some to be born broken.

As with the preying mantis from a week ago, this had something wrong with it. The wings wouldn’t fill out, she couldn’t fly.

With wings undeveloped, not pumped up for flight, she wasn’t going anywhere. And she was having a hard time with the ants.

She fell from the tree, to the ground, evading those ubiquitous ants, so I picked her up. Give her a chance to do some living, why not.

I didn’t leave her this time, taking her home in a jar I keep in the car, where she lived a few days longer than she otherwise would.

I gave her sweet water and left some nature with her, a bit of bark and a few clover flower heads. She liked it on my warm hand.

Pollen on her face … she got used to me quick enough, and lived the life she could, undaunted. No sign of any predators intruding.

She seemed to pick up at times, displaying enough vitality I thought it might just correct her wings. But such magic was not to be.

But still … a proud little thing, little messenger of the nature gods of pollination and marvel. Marvel, who designs these little wonders.

I worked her for a while, then she was gone … passed, as all things do. This is her epitaph … pictures of nature in a world in decline.

Man has gone mad, he just hasn’t realised it yet. Even mad is relative here.

On that paperbark tree again, another live casualty.

And not a sign of self pity. Just living and dying as a matter of fact.

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

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Horse Flys …

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She came in through the front door … and got herself trapped against the fly screen.

She was just following the light, not knowing to turn back into the darkness of the shaded room to get free.

She doesn’t do any knowing in that sense, being an entirely instinctive creature – this one wasn’t the exception.

So I got a glass from the kitchen and caught her up in it for transporting to the verandah.

She seemed to enjoy being out in the air, though I’m sure she didn’t know what had happened.

It took a while for her to find her feet again, don’t know how long she was trapped.

And so I left her, being what she is, to find her way once more in the wide world.

Then she took to the air … as all good flies do.

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

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A Dozen Of …

flies. I think they are flies. A male and female, I think.

Otherwise I’m not thinking any more today.

*A few pix of nearby larva added below.

Him, I think … with two short antennae and blue eyes.

*Click on the pictures for a proper look …

Him again …

Notice, not a lot of thinking going on …

And her, I think … with one long antennae ending in a bright yellow bulb, with pinkish eyes.

From various angles and backgrounds as could be managed … she was a good model for a while.

No thinking here …

… or here.

Taking the opportunity to clean those wings, whether they need it or not.

Hello little one … She got restless and came up to the lens and tried to climb on.

She is a beauty, in her own right. The only ‘right’ that matters. Whatever that means. No thinking now …

At some point she ended up on my hand, enjoying the warmth maybe. Eventually I put her up where she’d catch the sun in the morning.

Larva (spitfires?) found on the same tree as the ‘female’. They do this thing, pointing their tails up, makes one wary …

Found on a nearby tree, maybe a different sort altogether – not my field.

Or these …

Also found on the same tree at another time. Larva of something …

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

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Black And White – I Fly

The fly’s actual length is around 12mm.

*Click on the pictures for a proper look …

The wing would be around 7mm long.

I have seen this fly a few times over the years but never got a shot until recently when it flew across my path and landed on a big tree I was inspecting.

It looks black and white to the unaided eye, no colours at all, but some hues and shades appear when you get up closer. A fly’s eye view you could say.

It’s a plain enough creature, unremarkable in a way, still amazing to be able to enter its world this way and see what another fly would see.

I look across and see what I would look like as a fly. I see fly … You never know, at the surface, the genius behind the form.

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

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Bluey The Fly

What big eyes … and that purposeful structure, of face and eye. Implies something other … maybe instinct, or nothing at all.

*Click on the pictures for a proper look …

Top heavy but perfectly poised for flight, at rest still. Little spurs and hooks enabling it.

Let the ablutions begin. Those front arms, legs, perfectly fitted to maintain a groomed appearance. Or he’s just loving it.

And the beard, leave no hair uncombed. Though it’s good to break some habits, if habit it be.

Rub those eyes, keeping fresh and alert. Thing is, when he’s focussed on preening he doesn’t see me.

The most skittish fly in the garden. You only have to look in their direction and they’re away.

Sometimes they take off as soon as it occurs to me to take a shot, never mind make a move towards one.

It’s as if they can read intent, and ‘survival’ won’t let them allow me close enough to constitute a threat.

And then there are the times they don’t even see me, rare they be, and I get a few shots before flight.

One thing I’ve practised these years of doing macro, see the fact and accept what comes, and what goes.

This eventually reduces the force of any wanting or trying to an echo of itself, a habit that can be broken.

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

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Fly By Nite

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Keeping those legs clean. What they do in the dark.

*Click the pictures for a closer view.

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A little dew from a cold night.

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Sharing a perch for the night.

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Neighbours by night.

Night time on the daisies, next to the nasturtium.
© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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Knock, Knock …

P1070645_filtered‘Who’s there?’

It’s me, Bug …

‘Bug who?’

Buggg, your old mate.

‘Well, come on up old mate …’

G’day fly, me old mate. Howzit goin?

‘Hang on! You’re Ahhgggsassin bug. Bugoff!’

Aww come on, I’m only a little hungry on this cold night.

‘Buzzzz, bzzz, bzz – now where am I going to land, on this bloody …’

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The night is a bloody experience for many a bug. Some cop it, and some are copped – oops!

We are lucky, having come far from our savage nature. Or are we, did we …

Did we just mask the real for the convenient and safe – ish …

To have it stripped by consequences inevitable.

And it all comes from within.

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On that hill there …

What is it?

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Well, what is it disturbs in the quiet of night?

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Prayer …

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Everything prays. Prayer works.

Careful what you pray …

© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Night Fly

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Not much to report from the wilds, in fact the garden has the feel of stasis due to the recent cold. But there’s never really nothing, is there … So I do the rounds of the various nooks and crannies and what do I find but one of the great survivors, the garden fly.

This one, and a couple others, was making his bed in the flowers, literally. At sundown I would find it down on the flower’s centre while the petals would close up around it, to keep the cold and wind off. Not an unintelligent action at all.

In fact it isn’t hard to see the intelligence in any part of nature, the power animating and giving function to the form so that all the parts fit together to make the whole, of nature. It only requires the surrender of prejudice, thought.

Nature, what we are in existence, is represented by the planet and all its parts, the night sky full of stars too, and looks like it never ends, ‘out there’.

Intelligence, what we are before nature, ‘inside’, that gives rise to the appearance things are, can only be a mystery, to a fly resting on a flower.

Being, the silence upon which it is all drawn, endless and endlessly.

What is endless upon which nothing is written?

I’ll have the endless please …

© Mark Berkery … CLICK any picture to enlarge in a new tab …

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