science

More from Red Wing Park (and a Publication Note)

Rae Spencer7 Comments

Red Wing Park is one of my favorite places to visit when I crave a short walk. Or when I’m in the mood for butterflies. Yesterday, I discovered several new attractions, including lotus blooms in an artificial pond and a skink basking on the pond’s rock border.

Butterflies were out in droves, even a few species I have never seen before. (Add these to the Snowberry Clearwing Moths in yesterday’s post…)

I caught several images of a large, unfamiliar swallowtail. I can’t tell if these are Pipevine Swallowtails or Spicebush Swallowtails. Maybe both species were present? Any ideas?

One individual had a mangled hindwing, with more than half of the wing amputated. In marked contrast to the other butterflies, this one struggled in flight. It flailed and fluttered along in short spurts, stopping to perch on flowers rather than hovering as it drank. It continued to feed and flirt with its companions, but it was decidedly less agile.

As far as wing injuries go, this was as bad as I’ve seen. I felt an uncomfortable surge of empathy, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the wound was painful. The encounter has turned me philosophical.

It’s just a butterfly. An insect. An ephemeral creature, at best. And yet, its fate affected me. I am reminded of that jaded cliche about chaos theory, the one where a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world, causing an alteration in the weather pattern of another part of the world. What of this butterfly’s damaged wing? What currents of change might eddy in its wake?

Publication note:  My poem “The Road” was published at vox poetica this week. It is now posted on the poemblog. Many thanks to editor Annmarie Lockhart!

Blue Dragonfly Notes

Rae Spencer9 Comments

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.

Crisis Management

Rae Spencer1 Comment

Under attack, trees share their secrets
Spread rumors of invasion
Or infestation, a whiff of stress perfume
Winding through the damaged grove

Whispering the key to survival
Simple and complex molecules seep
From root to root, fungal lines
Of communication ringing

The soil switchboard with toxic
News, rousing a gene, waking
A cascade of defense in pristine leaves
That become jaded, learn the noxious

Knack of bitterness, turn tasteless
In time to repel the siege

Stromatolites

Rae Spencer4 Comments

Algal layers of rock
Pillars of change
Rising from acid reduction
And nitrogenous seep

Busy bellows of corruption
Poisoning earth
With what rusts

From saline retreats
Tilted engines of life
For the record, the riddle

Marching on a muddled shore
Squat and stony muses
Of marvel and breath
In this weathered, easy air

Science

Rae Spencer6 Comments

Science

Our questions sprout
Like brambles
Dense with unseen truths
Quivering and tense as rabbits

Flushed into the open
When spoken aloud
Darting across the tongue
A disturbance in the listener’s ear
That flees barely glimpsed
Back into conjecture

Understanding a footprint
Of what might have been alive
What tore its warmth free of thorns
And escaped into possibility

Leaving only the suggestion
Of what was hiding
Safe as a copse
As a thicket
Amid the sprawling undergrowth of science
Pricking with the need to be known