Injured Cicada

Over the last few summers, I’ve developed a genuine affection for cicadas. I like their gargoyle faces, which seem perpetually surprised. I’m fascinated by the deceptively delicate veins that trace through their sturdy wings. And I like the challenge of finding them, which is quite difficult for me, even though they noisily advertise their exact location.

So when I found this injured cicada on our driveway, looking like a premature autumn leaf, I felt a stab of regret and pity. It’s wings were curled and brittle, seemingly charred at the tips.

There’s no hope that it will ever fly, but I couldn’t bear to leave it struggling on the driveway, exposed to every passing predator. And when I offered it a stick, it eagerly climbed aboard. Despite the obvious futility, I ferried it into the back yard and released it in the wax myrtle.

I can’t pretend to have rescued the cicada. I can’t wish for it to meet a kinder fate among the wax myrtle’s branches than what loomed on the driveway. It’s injuries were too severe. Nature makes no exceptions, does not soften with regret and pity, even in such a tame yard as ours.

But as I walked away, the cicada was inching higher and higher, gradually disappearing against the dappled foliage overhead.

Another Cicada Molt

Last night, I wandered outside around nine-thirty. A thin layer of clouds framed the moon, a cool breeze stirred the leaves, and the yard smelled like fresh-cut grass. I meant only to enjoy a late night ramble with the dog. So I was unprepared for this molting cicada. No camera. No shoes. No mosquito repellent.

After a few chaotic moments of rushing from room to room, tripping over the excited dog (she didn’t understand our new game, but did her best to play along), and dropping things that are too fragile to be dropped very often, I made it back to the fence in time to catch most of the molt.

My only regret is that I couldn’t find the mosquito repellent…

Cicada Molt

I wonder what it feels like to wake up with wings?

Notes from the Yard

The yard isn’t exactly bustling, in this heat, but there are signs of life. Each day, more and more cicadas molt on the fence.

The young praying mantises have spread out into the iris beds.

And I’m still seeing pondhawks, though their numbers have decreased over the last two days.

Finally, I’m intrigued by this cocoon. What’s in there? My chances of finding out are slim, because it will likely emerge when I’m busy doing other things. Even so, I check on it several times a day. Just in case…

Blue Dragonfly Notes

The blue on these mature dragonflies (I believe the top image is a Blue Dasher and the next is a Great Blue Skimmer) is called “pruinescence”. Often described as a powdery accumulation of pigment, the phenomenon of pruinescence is not confined to dragonflies. (I couldn’t find a definitive resource for a link, but this Wikipedia article contains some interesting observations.)

I tend to gravitate toward pruinose dragonflies, when I’m out with my camera. I like how the pale coloration exposes seams and joints, highlighting the intricate anatomy of these amazing insects.

(This male Great Blue Skimmer was a very patient subject. Most of my dragonfly photos are taken using the zoom feature, but he let me experiment with the macro setting, which produced the next image.)

While coloration and wing patterns catch my attention first, wounds hold my attention. This female Great Blue Skimmer has a rather typical set of wing tears, but the wounds on her face are unusual. I wondered if the loss of symmetry made her less attractive, in dragonfly terms.

One final note (completely off-topic):  I’m happy to report that the summer’s first cicadas arrived this week.