This moth was tiny, barely the size of my thumbnail. Do you know the basic difference between butterflies and moths? I didn’t, until looking it up today — but apparently, all butterflies have little balls at the end of their antennae. As this creature doesn’t have those, it’s a moth. Now you know.
There is nothing going on at the moment. AT ALL. Pointing the camera at flowers is about all that is available. The winter flowering cherry, as a species, makes at least its second appearance on the blog. If nothing else continues to not happen, it might be back soon enough.
This squash plant is growing on the window sill of our room. Now I’m no expert on botany, and it is true that one rarely gets the chance to observe flowers in such controlled conditions. But I have never seen a plant that blooms in such an ephemeral way. This flower had not opened at all last night: here is what it looked like at 8.30am. But it was already withering. By 11am it was visibly drooping and by not later than 4pm it had shrivelled away to the state of the one visible behind it — which had done all this two days ago.
I hope it got what it wanted out of its few hours of glory, anyway. You have to hope that evolution still knows how to build things that are fit for purpose.
Digitalis purpurea, the common foxglove, always brightens things up at this time of year. Both its Latin and English names come from the way the flowers slip perfectly over one’s fingers; but as bees like to crawl up them too, don’t try this without checking first.
Enough of this greyness. Let there be blues! And greens! And a flower! All happily grabbing a dose of afternoon sunshine on the comfort of our window sill. Destined to be habaneros, if all grows as it should.
Dead flower masquerding as frail, semi-transparent moths? Or are the moths getting together for purposes of their own, and disguising their negotiations by masquerading as a flower? Either way, winter comes.
Despite the lack of encouraging conditions, some of the foliage is giving it a go. It can’t be easy under the monsoon, probably our equivalent of crawling out from under the duvet at 6.30am in February. Hence the ragged look of this bloom.
These seeds are ready to fly; the next windy day, they’ll be gone. You have to admire the simple efficiency of the pattern. The seeds remain individual and can all escape, but no space is wasted, no more could be fitted on. Like so many other things in nature, the perfect match of form and function.
This tulip is open and ready for business. Come and get it with those hairy stamens right now baby. Or so to speak.
Being 42 