Midsummer to late summer light ranges from
golden to bleak to laser sharp depending on the state of the atmosphere. This
year the vagaries of climate have plagued us all. The summer green should be
verdant and vibrant, yet this year all around we catch glimpses of autumnal
decay. Nature’s fangs and claws are evident in the battered wings of
butterflies and mysterious clumps of fur in the compost pit. Trees look sadly
at the brown rot consuming their leaves.
The tomatoes are done, and the blueberries
refuse to ripen. The bitter melons, hardy warriors, send their vines in
profusion across the gaps between house and tree.
Many species have reached adulthood by this
time, with middle-aged stoutness evident in the mature bodies of sun-bathing
skinks, whose official name, Plestiodon, sends me back to time out of mind. The
butterflies and moths are looking for a quite place to end their time, and come
to light on potted plants, still-life targets moving inevitably toward death.
Grasshoppers, however, are in their prime,
and their mid-day congregation in dappled light makes the relentless heat seem
almost enjoyable. Swallowtails pause for a rest before sunset, carrying the
essence of the other world. Perhaps they remember the time in ancient Japan when
they were honored as Deities in the Land of Eternal Life.
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| Yellow cabbage butterfly with tattered wings |
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| Geometridae moth with a long Japanese name: Usubamisujiedashaku |
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| Underside of the above |
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| Another one at the end of its days |
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| The skippers have arrived at last! |
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| Siesta for grasshoppers |
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| A male five-striped skink sunbathing after a storm |
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| Evening visit of the swallowtail |
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| The lovely underside of a spangle |
