[...] we're here for the fine sea views, the quiet solitude, and the warm weather. And that weather has already brought forth its first worshippers.
As usual, during the Easter holiday break, we find ourselves watching garden wildlife in sunnier climes -- in the Isle of Wight. At St Lawrence, on the southern tip of the Island, not only are we significantly nearer the equator than East Dulwich, but the land tips steeply down to the sea presenting the perfect soil-warming angle to the sun.
I think we are the first residents of the bungalow this year and the garden has been recently 'tidied' i.e. savagely cut, mown, and cleared. The pampas grass tussock has been trimmed down to look like a giant hedgehog and the sycamore seedlings sprouting from the lawn show that we were once overshadowed by trees now reduced to inglorious stumps.
But, no matter, we're here for the fine sea views, the quiet solitude, and the warm weather. And that weather has already brought forth its first worshippers. Within minutes of exploring the garden we are buzzed by a bee-fly, Bombylius major, that perfect herald of spring as it bobs its hovering flight over the red dead nettle. Then: a comma.
Polygonia c-album is perfectly named for its many-angled raggedy wing edge. During its hibernation sojourn it is invisible; wings held tight together its dark mottled underside resembles so closely a torn dead leaf as it sits motionless under a log or inside a tree hollow. But as it now rests with its wings spread to capture the warming rays of the sun it presents its bright orange upper side. As with other hibernators it shows its age: the orange is slightly less intense than in fresh specimens and it only has one and a half antennae. Even so, it knows exactly where the sun is and takes full advantage of the sheltered corner before bolting off at full tilt down onto the undercliff.
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