lurking on elm leaf

lurking on elm leaf --

unfolding, pleated, saw tooth edged --

a tiny crab spider

If I had not stopped to admire the pointed jade pendants of elm leaflets, I would not have spotted the minuscule spider clinging to a newly opened leaf. Such are the serendipitous rewards of the beauty-seeking eye. 
          It's a crab spider, perched on the spine of a leaf just turning from basic red ochre to photosynthetic green. Her patterned hazel body and narrow yellow front legs mimic the color and shape of the leaf sepals, so she has a good chance of ambushing an unobservant insect. But for me, once I detect her, she jumps out from the scenery like a typo on a printed page.
          She doesn't move as I take her photo, still as a stalk and still stalking. When an insect chances by, she will pounce and paralyze her prey with a poisonous bite. Patience rewards she who waits.

a basket of peaches

a basket of peaches

blushing pink -- but this white spot?

tiny crab spider

A windfall peach gouged by deer teeth is my signal to start picking our peaches. The laden branches are bending nearly to the ground, making it easy for both me and the deer to reach the fuzzy golden orbs. I quickly fill two bushel baskets. In the process of transferring the ripe fruit into a smaller basket to take inside, I notice a small white spot on the blushing face of one of the peaches. 
          Bending close, I see that it's a tiny crab spider, furiously waving four of its legs in an attempt to scare me off. This makes me laugh. I must be thousands of times bigger than this minuscule organism, but nevertheless it's defending itself against a perceived threat. When I pick up the peach, the spider dives for safety, lowering itself on a silken dropline from the peach face to the ground and the obscurity of grass.
          These particular crab spiders (Araneae thomisidae) are ambush predators, sitting on a giant peach, ready to grab a visiting insect and such out its insides. They come in a variety of colors, from pure white, to black with a white bottom, and brown with a black bottom. Each crab look-alike reacts to motion in the same way: flap four legs frantically, scuttle sideways, skydive.

hidden behind

hidden behind

the daffodil's yellow trumpet,

a crab spider lurking

When I left for the Yucatan at 3:30 am in early March, the thermometer read 15 F (-9 C) and the frozen landscape consisted of dead brown grass and bare branches. When I returned ten days later, it was 86 F (30 C), hotter than the tropics, with green shoots of grass and early spring flowers all abloom.
          Today I sit under a pin oak beside a coterie of daffodils to take a portrait. With ruffled yellow trumpets held above the six pointed petals that form the perianth, they look like Renaissance ladies with golden crowns and white ruffs. I choose one and bring the camera as close as I can to capture the graceful shapes emerging from the daffodil's yellow corona: the three semi-circular lobes of the stigma at the end of the style and the pollen-encrusted anthers.
          That's when I notice a small black bug crawling up one of the columnar filaments. The next instant, a brown crab spider, lying in ambush, darts out from behind the corona, brandishing its long forelegs as if to say, "That's MY bug, back off!" We play a little game of hide and seek as I try to get a close-up of the spider. Meanwhile, the little black bug wanders off along the ruffled edge of the daffodil's corona. Just as quickly as it appeared, the spider dives out of sight. Game over, back to business.

last rose of autumn

last rose of autumn --

tiny white crab spider guards

one red rose petal

The day before yesterday, the rose bush in the sheltered southeast side of the house still holds one rosebud and one unfolding rose blossom. In the warmth of the sun yesterday, it unfurls completely. With just a few large petals, it looks more like an Oriental poppy than a rose. This is not its usual appearance, as can be seen from last year's image of a many-petaled rose. Perhaps the drought forced the rosebush to conserve the number of petals on each blossom. Anyway, the poppy-like rose looks like a Georgia O'Keeffe painting. Intent on capturing the beauty of the blossom, I don't notice something sticking out from one petal, like a white thorn. When I move around for a different angle, I spot a tiny white crab spider perched on the edge of the petal, sitting in ambush, waiting to grab an unwary insect. Its two pairs of front legs stick straight out, appearing quite menacing despite its diminutive size. It holds that pose for a long time while I get up close and focus on taking its portrait. Then, perhaps weary of my scrutiny, it scuttles sideways behind the red curtain, ending the photo session. Last night, the temperature dropped to freezing. The soft green leaves of the dahlias are crumpled and their petals hang limp, like a crowd of women with long dripping wet hair. But the red rosebud has shed its protective overcoat and the full blossom still sits royally on its pedestal. No sign of the crab spider.