Dog Days

Mostly, up close.

And what of the real world do you suppose these great black wasp eyes see?

I’m thinking it’s a whole lot. More than we can imagine, probably.

Dog days were so named during the way back when, to note the star Sirius rising.

When those days also brought flooding rains and relentless heat/humidity, it was the dog star’s doing.

So it’s been, ‘round these parts this year.

Overcast. Sultry. Sodden, especially given the more than occasional deluge.

And us with no heavenly figure to blame save our industrious selves, given the ravages of climate change.

For which the highly specialized and steadily diminishing monarch butterfly is a North American poster child of note.

On that matter we stand collectively as individuals all alone.

For now at least, this August like most any other is the blessed time each year when everybody eats.

From the truly quite small and at distance easily missed…

To the unnervingly large laying down track beside scrap in the night, for all to see come morn.

Did you know bumblebees practice facial recognition, among other skills? Used to be, that kind of thing was a proprietary item that in our arrogance set us apart from common critters and defined us as human.

Well, no more.

In the field, my eyes perceived this as just a visually interesting clutch of milkweed bug eggs in decent light and grabbed off a single shot.

Viewed full screen, I see now they sport legs. So not eggs, exactly.

Or like how these dragonflies you think you see are merely reflections caught upon still water. More akin to ghosts than the real deal, which whizzed back and forth about my head.

Regardless all the riches, every passing dog day shortens as night grows long. Autumn creeps ever closer. Come evening, cicadas typically serenade in raucous chorus.

Full dark, crickets and katydids assume the role. These greet particularly humid nights with notable enthusiasm.

Being nocturnal beasties we rarely if ever see either, except earlier today I spotted this big green fellow seeking refuge in thin shadow from the too bright light of day.

Need, meet opportunity...

Every night it's not otherwise raining, I make a point to sit some time in quiet appreciation of late summer’s sumptuous song.

After all, it’s organically fleeting.

But I fully expect this year’s big-assed funnel spider sharing our porch will thrive to near first frost. That’s also nocturnal. But I know it’s there not just by virtue of its ingenious web.

Because this particular nighttime beast occasionally leaves me a gift…