Nature's Place

This is how I picked her up, on the end of my stick. … Dead as a door nail. Or a last gasp strategy to survive a watery grave, lying on its back with as much out of water as possible.

And there she goes, against the odds still able to move and signalling life is present still. Amazing little bee …

A nudge this way and that and before long she is back up and about, more or less. Taking to my finger for its warmth and simplicity of form.

Exploring and inspecting her new location now as she holds on tight. Perhaps some residual awareness in her body of a recent near death experience. But it won’t colour her for long.

Still a ways to go before she can take to the wing again. Those wings stuck together by the surface tension of water, I think. Will drain away as she wriggles and wicks.

Where there’s life … There’s potential for change, advancement, progress, or just plain recovery from the past, actual and otherwise. Unburdened by the weight of experience remembered.

“Do I look like a spider to you.” Looking very stable, legs all splayed out and around. Not falling into anything wet again. No need to do again what nearly killed her, bees are so practical.

“Ooh, this is nice.” A place among the flowers. Time and comfort to groom, first the limbs.

Maybe a little food to speed up recovery. I’m sure she senses it. Nectar and pollen just below in those colourful pots.

“Yes, yes, give me more …” Where to from here, who knows. Energised by her vital instinct to revive and away, where else.

Her changing demeanor observed to signify an inner cause. She is getting back to herself, being a no problem bee, ready to set off once more.

And so it was. Before long, before sundown, she was gone from the butterfly bush. Never to be seen again, except maybe as another bee …

Raised up on the trusty stick with many uses. Soaked to the eyeballs but eager to rise again. A little unsteady at first.

Time for a few shots before s/he gets going again. Nudged in a dryer direction, on life support. Me and my stick …

Renewed enough to start grooming, after being delivered to the flowering butterfly bush. Gently …

There’s little to do but wait to dry out a bit. The wind helped. And gather ones focus, on being a fly …

An Assassin Fly. King or queen of its kind. Master of the air and all below it in the hierarchy of form.

After a while the orange, staked for another form, served to display the Assassins form.

An aerial shot, as the Assassin would see its prey perhaps. Plenty to hold onto, should another Assassin attack from above.

The way they do … Getting into its exercises now, bringing life back to limb and wing.

Manipulated somewhat for the flower in the background. Context is everything. Well, it’s important to the best appearance of form and things.

And a little prayer for the very good luck that saved its neck, this time. Life moves on, death follows …

One is the other, really. Inseparable, one from the other. Where to draw the line … This one dry and ready to fly again. Not yet dead.

Climbing out of the water of Karingal lake, by the rotting boardwalk. Herald of things to come …

The ubiquitous black jumping spider, prowls the byways looking to ambush an unwary ant. Usually still enough for a shot when focused on eating, or other primal action.

Long legged bug, congregating on the long sticky grass. Probably feasting on the spring juice rising. Or just congregating, for who knows what – the pleasure of it maybe, or the mating prospects.

Little skink, lizard of a kind, has its home on a man-made structure along with others of its kind. It took a while but in time they accepted my presence as background – short memories, and no immediate threat.

Others of its kind, very social creatures. Took me for a member of the family eventually. In the end there was a lot (10 – 15) of them sitting and moving along the painted post, taking little notice of me as they inspected my hand and climbed around.

Fruit fly, patiently waiting for the prickly pear to grow – probably not. Little oasis that it is, the pear cactus. And those prickles – don’t brush against them – will cause serious discomfort in defense of the realm, the bounty of water it soaks up and retains.

Female Lynx spider, sitting nearby the prickly pear, just being a spider. No problem, a male in hailing distance but in no rush to engage. Spring time is for mating and babies, and eating, in the insect world.

Tiny by comparison, the male Lynx spider sits at a distance to the female. They are often eaten after mating, to feed the progeny. It’s only fair. :-) … Well, no its not, but it’s the way it is.

Tiny flowers abound after the rains, with more rain to come. Often overlooked by the naked eye, as we gloss over so much of nature, they are their own little beauties up close.

A rare find these days, leaf-cutter bees, with habitat disappearing and conditions hostile. These little beauties were a welcome sight towards journeys end. … Resting on dried out grass stems overhanging the dusty disused trail that leads back to water.

Another lover of the prickly pear, a gnat of some kind. Looked like a mozzie, but didn’t act like one. Just as well, for me and the gnat. … The prickly pear is full of water in a parched landscape, no surprise to see so many creatures nearby.

One more flowering beauty. You gotta work for the angle, even though they don’t move around, except in the wind. Something to do with eyesight … failing. :-)

The dots and spots around the tree, against the cloudy sky, are flying insects, many bees. No doubt some of them are not native too.

Blowing in the wind but bright enough to get fast shutter speed to stop the action, for a clear sharp image.