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Sometimes I make things for myself, sometimes I will share them with you! ♥
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Peaceful Skies/78/150/803 > Mainstore
Unisex faded ear tips.
Compatible with Swallow Pixie & Human ears
3 options included
♦endi. Faded tips - Black - Swallow Ears
♦endi. Faded tips - Black/80% - Swallow Ears
♦endi. Faded tips - Black/No Veins - Swallow Ears
This is Swallow ONLY.
Yellow flowers cover the golden willows (Salix alba ‘Vitellina’) along Silver Tip Creek east of Belfry in Carbon County, Montana. A variety of white willow, the golden willow grows new stems that are a bright golden color. This bright color makes these trees stand out in the winter. In the spring slim, cylindrical, yellow flower clusters called catkins cover the trees as seen in this photo. These yellow flowers will give way to green leaves as the summer approaches. Golden willows are not native to Montana and Wyoming but were introduced by settlers who used them as windbreaks and shade trees. They escaped cultivation and naturalized across the area.
References:
www.ag.ndsu.edu/trees/handbook/th-3-139.pdf
www.gardeningknowhow.com/ornamental/trees/willow/golden-w...
L'oiseau de droite réfléchit au nid tandis que celui (ou celle ?) de gauche a une proie au bout du bec.
The bird on right is thinking about nest while the one on left holds a prey in tip of bill.
After leaving Chambers Farm Wood I popped into this small reserve just to see what might be about. My main target was dragonflies but it turned out that my highlight was seeing this orange tip visiting a flower.
I'm struggling to comprehend the seeming speed with which life has transitioned from manageable to the unimaginable. The preoccupation is rightly with the coronavirus itself. But ultimately the psychological aspect of longterm stress and anxiety might prove equally disabling. Each day brings an increased awareness that this is going to be a long term situation with effects that will surely outlast the virus itself. I'm clinging to daily routines in an effort to maintain mental health. But it's deeper than that. I need to feel a sense of self worth; a need to exist. There has to be more to a day than watching endless news coverage. It's important to be dialed into events, but I fear the hypnotic effect of ongoing news feeds. Balance is key right now. It will be a process of discovery for many of us as routines change, perhaps radically, as we find out how exactly we will fit into the new model. It will be a process.
We're on the verge of the vernal equinox; the first day of Spring in the northern hemisphere is Thursday. Normally a time of year filled with hope and optimism. Likely to go all but unnoticed this year. I was scrolling through an old email queue yesterday looking for a past communication. There I stumbled upon threads from exactly one year ago. They were filled with discussion of problems and issues with jobs that seemed paramount at the time, but utterly trivial now. How I wished those sorts of problems were the worst thing in life now.
The other day I noticed a very challenging astrological makeup for this week starting tomorrow, March 18. An astounding six planets will cluster in the sign of Capricorn. The indication is one of a tipping point being crossed. Perhaps a big disclosure is in the offing. The tension will remain strong through early next week. Stay safe.
Species: Anthocharis cardamines.
This butterfly has white uppersides to its wings. It is only the males that have orange-tipped forewings; females have small black tips. In both sexes the undersides of the hindwings are mottled with moss-green. The orange tips warn predators that this butterfly is highly distasteful. Info:RSPB.
Many thanks to people who view or comment on my photos
This low datum cabbed T45 Leyland Roadtrain still works hard in Malta. Formerly a tractor unit, it now serves as a tipper like so many others on the island.
Not sure if my spelling is correct here either,i wanted to use this title for a while but i was waiting for a shot i thought was worthy.I got the description from a section on Rabachs Glen from a book of the mountains of the Iveragh, Beara and Dingle Peninsulas that i had and have since lost by a brilliant mountain photographer Adrian Hendroff and i always thought it had a nice ring to it.
This was another unplanned shot,as i was out on the rocks further out in Allies Bay i noticed this incredible glow on the mountain behind the village.I rushed back just in time to capture this.Back out to the point to get some shots of the skellig islands the western tip of the Iveragh Peninsula and the Bull Island off Dursey,back over the beach then to get the moon over the village and down onto the beach to get the stars at night.An incredible evening and the next one was nearly even better out on a secluded little beach in Coulagh Bay.
Ballydonegan Beach Allihies Beara Peninsula Co Cork.
Good to go
The female Orange-tip butterfly is characterized by its lack of the bright orange wingtips present in the male.
I photographed this Rusty-tipped Page (Siproeta epaphus) at Emerald Valley, a private nature reserve northwest of Lake Yojoa near Peña Blanca, Honduras. Its orange wing tips and dark brown body stood out against the green foliage. It lives all year in tropical habitats from southern Texas to Brazil, Bolivia and Peru. It is also called the brown siproeta, and it is one of the most common butterflies in Central America. Emerald Valley's conservation work is led by Robert Gallardo and Olivia Díaz. Its wings average 7 to 7.5 centimeters across.
I used a Canon R5 with the RF 100-400mm f/5.6-8 plus the RF 1.4x extender for this one, at 1/60 sec, f/11, ISO 800. Gallardo's published inventory of Emerald Valley recorded 704 butterfly species, including more than 110 new records for Honduras.
©2024 Adam Rainoff Photographer
Back Garden - couldn't believe my luck when he landed on this dead daffodil (I didn't spot the photobomber at the time)
Also had a Holly Blue land on some blossom, but too high for photos.
2020-09-07, Day 3
Snow clouds roll in over a glassy un-named lake that sits at the foot of a talus-decorated cirque down which we must descend, high in the trackless northern Wind River Range, Fitzpatrick Wilderness, Wyoming.
The descent to this lake marked an incontrovertible tipping point for us. If the weather brought snow, as it seemed increasingly likely to do, it would be impossible to climb back the way we had come with the gear we had on our backs. Above where I stand here are one or two narrow or difficult places that required some Class 3 scrambling, and we lacked both metal foot-traction and ice-axes to make it an option both plausible and safe once covered in (more) snow and ice. As we picked our way carefully down through patches of vegetation interspersed with bands of talus, we crossed paths with a weasel racing uphill with a fat pika in its mouth. Helluva day to be that pika; on the other hand, it's time for a weasel celebration party.
If one looks at this photo closely, it is apparent that there are two lakes, separated by a small bridge of land. Judging from the rocks we could see, we figured we might find a flat place to pitch a tent in the patch of trees at about 11 o'clock on the far shore of the near lake. We also hoped that we would be protected from the worst of any snow and wind that the clouds might deliver after nightfall.
We made beef and bean burritos with cheese and rehydrated salsa for dinner, and we brewed a hot cup of herbal tea. Before our repast was complete, the temperature began to drop, the light commenced to fade, and the first flakes floated down through the wind-battered trees and landed on our jackets. We cleaned up the pot, hung the food, and climbed into the down sleeping bags to stay warm. The snow began to drive into the tent fly as it got dark, and I watched pellets of corn snow repeatedly gather in a few flatter parts of the fly, then slide down the vestibule toward the ground once a certain critical mass was attained. The tent did seem to be protected from the worst of the wind but the thin canopy of trees was doing very little to shield us from the accumulating snow.
Not long after dark, the snow and wind were joined by near simultaneous exclamations of thunder and lightning. The inside of the tent lit up like bright electric day, and enough detail could be made out of the sky immediately above us that it seemed as if we were on the inside of a snow-globe. Up to this very moment, I had never camped at the very edge of timberline in a high-elevation cirque in the middle of a full-on raging winter storm, with no trail anywhere close-by, and the surrounding talus now getting buried in who-knew-how-many inches of snow and ice. I thought somewhat academically that rest might be a good idea, but it proved difficult to relax. Every time I rolled over and glanced up at the tent fly, I noticed the weight of accumulating snow, and I hit the nylon to keep the vestibules on either side of the tent from collapsing. I have a two-person MSR backpacking tent that weighs just over 3 pounds (1.4 kg), including poles and stakes. It is a fabulous, light-weight, 3-season tent, and the conditions outside could only properly be described as that other, most unwelcome fourth season.
Wearing all of our clothing, and wrapped tightly in the down sleeping bags to try and retain as much warmth as possible, I can report that we were not downright cold. As the hours slowly passed, we noticed a change to the tenor of the storm. What was corn snow gave way to gusts of snow flakes complemented with a peppering of larger pea-sized ice particles. These hailstones irregularly collided with the aluminum poles of the tent frame, and we were treated to the relatively frequent pinging sound of the ice as it danced merrily off our stretched nylon bubble.
The only way out of this place in the morning would be to navigate the talus and attempt to find the nearest trail. The maps we consulted a month or so earlier when we identified bail-out points suggested that would be a distance of a little over 2 miles (3.2 km), with a descent of 1,000 feet (300 m) through what we surmised would be talus of some size, interspersed with bands of spruce forest and copious downed logs that would be slippery with snow and ice. Our initial assumption that the storm would likely bring only a few early-season inches to the Wind Rivers was clearly incorrect, and we would now pay whatever price the wilderness required to return to the warmth and comfort of the vehicle, which was over 20 miles (32 km) and one 11,000 foot (3,350 m) pass away from where we huddled. Apparently, getting older does not necessarily guarantee that one accrues any real wisdom.
1 Orange Tip
1 Holly Blue
I saw the same down the road. Only 4 butterflies today.
In my garden 19th April 2026
SY no. 1210 coming down off the Wulong Tip at Fuxin with a set of barely visible discharged tipper wagons on 15 November 2012.
Fuxin Mining Administration
Liaoning, China
