Monarch butterfly (Danaus plexippus)
There have not been many Monarch butterflies about this year so far, and I did a spirited, wobbly dance on the weekend when a single glorious specimen flew past my freckled nose and alighted in a stand of late blooming milkweed near the trail into the woods - in my excitement, I almost dropped the camera.
A few minutes later, a single cicada started to broadcast its call for a mate from somewhere higher on the ridge, then another and another and another. Again and again, their tymbal muscles contracted and relaxed, the vibrations resulting in what is, to me anyway, summer's most resonant and engaging musical score. Time stood still as I listened to that poignant and hopeful chorus.
There are moments one remembers in the depths of winter, and this was one of them. How sweet it was to listen to cicadas rumble and rasp in the trees over my head, to watch a small, wonder flutter and swoop through fields of waving milkweed on stained glass wings. Life simply doesn't get any better than this, and it doesn't get any wilder either.
2 comments:
I feel the cicadas singing marks "full summer". It's something I sometimes miss living much farther north than I did for years, where they would sing for weeks.
I would do a dance too if one actually sat still for a second or two!
Post a Comment