Summer Time …
… and the livin’s easy. Well, livin’s never that but there are many different small creatures about for me to investigate with the camera. And that’s a pleasure, if not easy.
I went down the old Mt Cotton scout camp today for a wander around a few known trails. By the pleasantly aged buildings there is a garden planted by the young boys, I don’t know when. There are many flowers there at the moment and they attract the tiny native bees.
And where one insect goes there are usually more who follow, or just make their own way there. One doesn’t necessarily follow the other, or does it? Anyway, it wasn’t long before I had to give up on the little black bees, they just move too fast. Zip, zip, zip, in and out. I must have got two keepers out of about one hundred shots, not good.
Then I noticed a little black cricket, I think it is. Ninja cricket, I call it, with a short yellow saddle on its back. It was very interested in the small black bees and was slowly making its way towards one on a flower but they were just too fast for it, and not nearly numerous enough to be caught.
I was looking around for what else may be in the vicinity and there was one of the little brown frogs from early spring, only now it was turning green though not much bigger. It was also in position to catch some black bees, up on the leaf about the flower, but after a few shots it jumped away down the plant.
And there was a golden ant taking some of the honey I left out for the bees, which they never touched. Enjoying a long sup of a most wonderful food not often experienced in the world of ant. Food of the gods ant, making the most of it.
A few other creatures came and went. Like the green eyed fly. She landed on my booted foot and slowly made her way up my ankle where I got a few shots. Then she was off to the garden where I got a few more. She had a lazy way about her and at one time she was determined to examine my camera.
She rose up from the greenery and came slowly towards me. At first I thought she was after landing on me and I moved away but she went straight to the camera and walked around it tasting, as flies do. After a while I shooed her away and she landed in the garden again and we both went about our business. She grooming herself and me taking her picture.
As I left the garden for the wilder trails I met a small grey kangaroo, no picture. We have met before and I called out to her and she was hesitant, not knowing whether to run or not. In the end she opted to keep a safe distance of about ten yards but she is getting used to me now. I must remember to bring her some good food next time.
Down towards the water I went to see the wasps at a nest I know of, native wasps. They are small dark hued creatures and like all wasps are alert to any intrusion. I am always careful when in the bush but particularly around wasps as they are very active in defense of their nest. It’s a good idea to give them no cause to interpret any action as aggressive, as they will attack. David and Goliath style.
But their sting is not at all bad, not like the European wasp or paper wasp. It’s like a small electric current that rapidly diminishes, but uncomfortable all the same.
Another fly landed at my feet on the boardwalk around the dam, just two shots of this one. Magnificent creature, colours and form. It is extraordinary the beauty of these creatures up close, that is so easily overlooked by the unaided eye.
A dragonfly also presented himself, lovely young yellow thing. Sat on his perch for me to get a few good shots and away he went. Nothing stays the same for long in the bush. Everything is always moving, staying alive if it can. 
Dying if it can’t. Without complaint.
My beautiful nature.
© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge
Wild Hibiscus Tree – Harlequin and Friends
I’ve been observing the activity and tracking the residents for a while now, down in the forest, on the wild Hibiscus tree. The tree has white flowers with a dark red heart, beautiful clean colour when new. And a contrast that reaches deep inside, in sense.
The leaves have been mostly eaten for a while now, since the tree is also home to a few other creatures besides the Harlequin bug. There are small reddish brown beetles that roam all over the place, including all over the harlequins, who seem to mind quite a bit, getting very agitated when one climbs on their back.
The flower houses a host of squat dark flies that only seem to leave that dark heart when I disturb them, by moving the flower. Lately there has been a burgeoning of other bugs, such as the black and yellow assassins pictured, who seem to transform to the red and yellow beauty by climbing out of their old jacket.
Nothing like a new set of clothes to set you free.
*
The Harlequin is definitely the star of this show though. At first I thought I was lucky to get a few shots of an individual. Then I got a few shots of a few more individuals. That’s when I realised the hibiscus tree is home to these beautiful creatures, they didn’t go away.
Over time I visited the tree and observed the Harlequin bug in the various stages of its development. I watched it mature, eat, commune, grow wings, mate, lay eggs and guard and incubate them. Saw the young hatch and then herd themselves around the tree with the adult looking on for a short while.
It has been an eventful time, Hibiscus Harlequin time.
*
A privilege really, to witness the life of these beautifully coloured creatures. And here you have it in the comfort of your home, no need to go down the bug infested forest, with mozzies and little black biting midges chasing you.
© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge
Whose Art Was That?
It is easy to judge, seeing things positionally, from a place of identity. Partial being. The difficulty is in extracting the value of experience, it should tell all is change while I remain I behind. It does, but it takes a long time, and long pain.
But judgement is a pernicious habit of the machine mind. Which takes its rise from the momentum of life itself, never giving up. As can be seen all around in the forms of nature, or not nature.
The force of it can be overcome. Not by opposition, but by surrender. Surrender of the force. For all force is it. This is being without the force of existence, the power behind – no more need to die.
It is this knowledge that reveals the truth in every body. Living is the art, I am the artist, in any body.
The one artist within. Being art. No exceptions.
The art of being.
*
As I came round the bend of the track in the forest there he was, or was it she. Sitting on a tendril of green overhanging the trodden path, a fly.
Blue, red eyed creature. Little beauty. Unafraid he sat, for long enough to image. Coming and going, and coming again.
A few days later there he was again. Same tendril, same fly.
He winked, I know.
Old friend.
*
Ya just gotta laugh at it all sometimes.
© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge
Breakdown
It’s what happens to things. And everything’s a thing so everything breaks down some time.
What makes it time a thing breaks down? It’s time; it’s time to break down. It’s time in the order of things.
All things are ordered. The earth, the solar system, the universe, the whole of existence is ordered. You didn’t think it was disordered, did you?
Being ordered it all breaks down to order, right on time.
It’s bloody perfect. Perfectly ordered.
Perfect breakdown. :)
© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge
Masked Paramour
Sitting in the flower tops, waiting for her love.
Surrounded by the colour blue, and mauve.
Round and round she went to see.
Arms outstretched, but not to me.
Once a beckoning, it seems.
Then strikes a pose, of themes?
I don’t wonder that she would feel.
And along comes a meal.
Not so easy, the meal.
One finds there little appeal.
The other, oh well, away on the wind.
Love returns, eventually, in kind.
© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge
It’s Never Too Late
These shots are of creatures that are seen only around the outside light at night. The largest creature here is the first at about 2mm wide head. The others are so small they are unidentifiable to the naked eye.
To rise up.
It’s never too late to throw off the chains.
Never too late to be new.
It’s never too late to give up the mantra, the one that keeps you from love.
“I can’t!” “Why me?” “It isn’t supposed to be this way.” “Something’s wrong.”
The mantra of mind that sees only what is gone, and never the way it really was, or is.
It’s never too late to say it’s good. Good to be alive! Well done! That’s lovely!
It’s never too late to step out of your skin. The one as me ‘this’ or me ‘that’.
It’s never too late.
*
Well, I suppose it can be too late.
The sun sets, the stars shimmer only once just that way, the same rain never falls twice.
But it’s never too late to dance for the pleasure of it, or sing a little song.
© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge
A Mother Fly
She was a beauty, about ¾ inch long, lovely colour and undamaged by her eventful life, no dents in her eyes or broken hairs on her face. In fact she was the picture of health, as I know a fly can be.
This huge fly found its way into the laundry the other day. It was on the window glass and I couldn’t induce it to have some honey and slow down. It had other things on its consciousness, demanding its attention.
I followed it around for a while trying to get a decent shot of it, even moving. Eventually I decided to trap it in glass and that worked. After a few minutes under the glass it stopped still, so I lifted the glass and it remained calm. It climbed up the side of the glass and sat there for a while.
After a short time it tried to fly away and fell to the window sill, buzzing around on its back, wings beating loudly against the surface. I remember big flies doing this from when I was younger, much so.
I noticed its behind was white and I took shots of what was presented to me. When I looked on the LCD I could see tiny grubs and it clicked. It was a she and she was giving birth.
There were many, maybe 100, of these grubs scattered around the buzzing mother. It appears the fly goes a little manic with the readiness of birth which causes her to scatter her young. That would be better than to leave them all in one place, a ready meal ensuring an end to her line, not very evolutionary that.
Then, a little time later, she died.
And that’s the way of it here.
*
Unless you know purpose and can live it.
© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge
Look After …
… the little things and the big things take care of themselves. There is truth in old sayings and no less this one. If you clean your feet or teeth your body has a better chance of health than if you don’t. Check the tyre pressure and save on tyres and fuel, maybe accident.
Be careful what you think and life unfolds accordingly.
The big picture is painted with lots of dots.
© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge
The Day …
… you no longer see me …
Or me.
Me too.
And me.
Me, me.
And here.
And meeee! Me, me, me, me!
Oi! Me too!
And meeeeeeee!
… is the day the pain from having shot yourself in the foot arrives in your consciousness. Then it’s too late for this time round. If you are quick you might see pain has a value. A spiritual value.
It serves the one and only purpose, to wake me up.
Ding, ding, ding! Hear it?
© Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge
Nature's Place 
2 comments