I’ve had such positive responses to yesterday’s katydid photo that I’ve been going back over the last time I had the opportunity, which was almost a year ago, and I’ll be doing a follow-up blog soon. But first…
Have you ever wondered how some of the creatures in this incredibly-diverse world of ours can develop the amazing (and sometimes downright outrageous) colors that they do? Tropical inhabitants—especially fish and birds—come to mind, as well as various butterflies come immediately to mind, and I’ve found myself wondering if they could be any more flamboyant if someone had given hallucinogenic drugs to a group of kids (of any age), provided them with an array of magic markers and paints and fluorescent lighting and turned them loose to invent the wildest creatures they could think of.
Ever since I saw my first one as a boy in Michigan, I have been drawn to the minuscule (average 8 mm or 1/3 inch) red-banded leafhopper (Graphocephala coccinea), which could quite conceivably be the creation of someone whose mind and imagination have been considerably altered and enhanced, respectively.
While I was looking for yesterday’s katydid again, with not much hope of finding it, a small butterfly caught my eye, and then another, and while I was following them around to where I thought they had landed on our sweet autumn clematis (Clematis paniculata), which climbs up and all over our mailbox, this little fellow whizzed up and landed on a nearby leaf, whereupon I abandoned all pursuit of the butterflies and started cautiously (and gleefully) stalking my new prey. I was able to get within comfortable macro distance and the breeze was calm, and—after its third move—it became comfortable enough with me nearby that it was apparently content to dismiss me as a potential threat.