In Good Hands

One morning last week, just before dawn, we watched two yearling white-tailed deer play tag around the pond. They ran like the wind, their hooves scarcely touching the ground as they leaped in the air and splashed through the water. Once in a while, Bitsy (our name for the littlest female) would stop to catch her breath, but she'd sprint ahead as soon as Sundance (the youngest male) started to catch up. It was an expression of pure joy, and I could relate. I love spring.

A Carolina wren has taken up housekeeping in the creel on our front porch, just far enough from the phoebe's nest by the front door to avoid collisions. Now the wrens are busy bringing bugs back to their babies.

It's dark out this morning, and dogwood bracts on the coffee table appear to be floating in mid-air. Redbuds sparkle on the dining room table and wildflowers overflow small vases in the kitchen. Outside, one has to tiptoe to avoid stepping on a wildflower. 

These flora and fauna don't know that our country is in crisis. While everything around us is changing, a Rue Anemone pushes its way out of the earth and bobs in the breeze, right on schedule. It's a good reminder that their Maker and ours is still holding the world in His hands. We can sleep well. He is awake.

Lured by a Butterfly

Our wildflower meadow is a miniature one this time of year, with henbit, bluet and my favorite, 

Johnny-jump-up, scattered among the dormant grass.

Here and there, a toothwort or rue anemone, at shoe height, tower above the others. The best way to appreciate this beauty, I think, is at ground level, and I've spent a little time there lately, laying on my sturdy old exercise mat. Besides providing padding, I've been counting on it to keep most of the bugs away (except for the pretty ones that don't think we taste good).

I wasn't just there to see the flowers. I'd been lured by an elusive butterfly. On a walk in the woods last week, I saw a male Falcate Orangetip for the first time. Flying at eye level a few yards ahead of me, he stayed over the path like a mechanical rabbit, and I had to pick up my pace to keep up with him. He was small and white with one bright tangerine spot on each wing. The female lacks the orange spot, but both of them have a delicate pattern on the underside of their hind wings. When a female appeared in the brush at the side of the trail, the Orangetip male abandoned me, and it was only then I noticed the single stemmed rose he was carrying.

I saw their cousins in western Ozark County, about 8 miles from here, and also in our meadow, which is the main reason I was there, with my camera of course. But photographing them has been a challenge. They would speed by, flying erratically, like a house fly on steroids. When I finally saw one alight, it was momentary, on the delicate violet, Johnny-jump-up.

There's a state park in Connecticut called West Rock where people gather every year to see these butterflies. I can understand why they go to view such a sight, but now I can say with certainty, they ain't got nuthin' in Connecticut that we don't have right here in Ozark County, Missouri.

Linking with Our World Tuesday