Poor Butterfly

This butterfly was laying in the sand of the Indiana Dunes the other day---still alive but barely. I picked it up, brushed the sand off, and placed it on the leaf.

The body was curiously bent and the legs didn't seem to work very well, although it was able to hang onto the leaf. Perhaps it had recently emerged from its chrysalis and still had some unfolding to do?  

Sassafras

Recently someone commented on a picture of not quite perfect sassafras leaf that was posted saying it couldn't possibly be a Sassafras leaf.

And while Oak and Maple leaves young and old all are shaped like Oak and Maple leaves, for the most part, Sassafras leaves appear in different ways. All the leaves posted here are Sassafras leaves.

Sassafras stems all taste of rootbeer, though, and I love hiking through the woods sampling the sweet flavor of Sassafras stems.

  

Hundreds of Tiny Flowers

A close look at the center of this flower shows that this flower is made up of  hundreds of tiny flowers within.  

Hummingbird Moth

A hummingbird moth buzzing around sampling flowers...

Top of the Morning

The king of the chickens at Sunset Hill Farm Park says good morning to you.

Indian Blanket for Cooler Days Ahead

Summer's last hurrah very often includes an Indian Blanket or two, as if we need a little something to help us through the transition from Summer to Fall.

This lone flower was like a beacon soaking up the late afternoon sunshine---a wildflower full of warmth.    

Summer Fades. Joys Spoilt in Use. Bring on the Fall.

Ever let the fancy roam,

Pleasure never is at home:

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;

Then let winged Fancy wander

Through the thought still spread beyond her:

Open wide the mind’s cage-door,

She’ll dart forth, and cloudward soar.

O sweet Fancy! let her loose;

Summer’s joys are spoilt by use,

And the enjoying of the Spring

Fades as does its blossoming;

Autumn’s red-lipp’d fruitage too,

Blushing through the mist and dew,

Cloys with tasting: What do then?

Sit thee by the ingle, when

The sear faggot blazes bright,

Spirit of a winter’s night;

When the soundless earth is muffled,

And the caked snow is shuffled

From the ploughboy’s heavy shoon;

When the Night doth meet the Noon 

In a dark conspiracy

To banish Even from her sky.

Sit thee there, and send abroad,

With a mind self-overaw’d,

Fancy, high-commission’d:—send her!

She has vassals to attend her:

She will bring, in spite of frost,

Beauties that the earth hath lost;

She will bring thee, all together,

All delights of summer weather;...

John Keats/Fancy