Self portrait of sorts
Bleachers and backstop
An archives
Cape Spear licked by a spit of Arctic ice
Wash Ballocks
Number Forty-three
A dervish for love
At the mail boxes
Chipper truck's arse
Berry bag
Sliver Moon
Warm enough for house flies
Creeper creeping
Wintry winds do blow
Next morning
Mourning dove
Take-away breakfast
Minding, picking and eating
Impatiens rooting and blooming
Gathering sticks
By the grace of someone else's sobriety
Two crows
Graveside
A few minutes too late
The lane, or cove, with no name
Together, almost and for only a short time
Moon, Jupiter and Venus
Red Crossbill
Finches in the snow
Two purples and a goldfinch
The neighbourhood graveyard
Snowy evening with bus passing
Decided
Can't decide
Mid-winter spider
Our full of it from the back door
Starling
Truck's arse, in this case that of an ambulance
Another twa corbies
Optimistic spider
Up the street
This morning
Two of my aunts
"Back off, luh!"
Very small landscape
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Underwing's underside


Apparently not a *true* underwing, the "Large yellow underwing" has no trouble holding its name. The upperwings, here beneath the underwings, are plain browns, while the underwings are a bright orange, with that striking black bar.
I never saw one until recent years. They are a recent invader of these parts. I mistook this fellow, based on his orange upper side, for a European skipper. But I have been corrected.
I took pictures of both the up-side and the down-side but I particularly like this one of his underside aspect.
He was dead when we found him sitting inside the door of the fireplace. He'd probably been there since autumn, though we had used the fireplace a few times. Where he was was warm enough to dry out but not hot enough to burn. A kind of Limbo. The very vestibule of the inferno.
I never saw one until recent years. They are a recent invader of these parts. I mistook this fellow, based on his orange upper side, for a European skipper. But I have been corrected.
I took pictures of both the up-side and the down-side but I particularly like this one of his underside aspect.
He was dead when we found him sitting inside the door of the fireplace. He'd probably been there since autumn, though we had used the fireplace a few times. Where he was was warm enough to dry out but not hot enough to burn. A kind of Limbo. The very vestibule of the inferno.
aNNa schramm, Fred Fouarge have particularly liked this photo
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