I’ve plenty of images and tales to share, yet I’ve insufficient time in which to do so.  For that, I am bewildered by regret.

No part of me denies my job has insidiously impacted my writing.  That includes blogging, a minuscule part of my perpetual prose and poetry.

For priorities vex me at every turn.  First, and without denial, come The Kids.  They forever represent my focus, the crux of my every breath, the opening of my every petal and the reaching of my every branch.  For them, nothing rests outside of reach.  I would gladly suffer eternal horrors to ensure they know my love.

Tucked neatly behind them, both family and friends lie in wait.  I can deny no amount of insufferable neglect for the names writ upon that list.  How I wish to embrace each of them, to remark upon my love for what they give me, and to wish with them on every star we can consume with shared eyes rested next to each other.

My quest for enlightened success with novelist hopes then carries a banner seen above faces drawn by lamentable affection.  Dare I name one before the other, a friend here and a book there, or dare I imagine within me the visage of both, a landscape of devotions torn one from the other?

Yet even still I pen want after need after want after need.  Nary a soul or design escapes me without torment.  Too much I want to accomplish.  Too little I find of time.

Within the heavy yoke of survival I rest my weary neck.  The bonds of life drag me to and fro without concern.  At least in spite of my own.

I’ve partaken of no sustenance even at this late hour.  My flesh beckons for the nourishment it needs… and is denied.

I beg your forgiveness as I proffer this simple gift: a quote too often quoted and a picture too often pictured.  Let them sate your hungry heart for but a moment so that I might weep in need the passions unfulfilled in my own life.

Because I have no other offering. . .

“This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on seas and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.”

— John Muir

Remember when I saw a good portion of the western hemisphere in the clouds?  It seems it’s now Italy’s turn.  Well, Italy if the country is retaining water, otherwise it could be one of Santa Claus’ legs.

I’d ultimately like to say it’s Italy, though the peninsular structure has gained some weight since the last time I saw a map.  And yes, that’s a plane flying through the scene near the top-left corner.

Before anyone mentions my apparent desire to see things in the clouds, let me be serious for a moment and remind you of this quote from Stephen King’s Bag of Bones:

This is how we go on: one day at a time, one meal at a time, one pain at a time, one breath at a time. Dentists go on one root-canal at a time; boat-builders go on one hull at a time. If you write books, you go on one page at a time. We turn from all we know and all we fear. We study catalogues, watch football games, choose Sprint over AT&T. We count the birds in the sky and will not turn from the window when we hear the footsteps behind us as something comes up the hall; we say yes, I agree that clouds often look like other things—fish and unicorns and men on horseback—but they really are only clouds. Even when the lightning flashes inside them we say they are only clouds and turn our attention to the next meal, the next pain, the next breath, the next page. This is how we go on.

So, poppets, this is how I go on: one vision at a time, one page of text at a time, one post at a time, one new imaginative moment at a time, one minute of friendship and family and The Kids at a time, and one dream at a time.  How else can it be done?  I know of no other way.

But back to the clouds…

A thunderstorm came to life southwest of me a few weeks back, so I stood and watched its leading edge as the whole mass billowed and grew, a cottony manifestation of nature’s fury painted with a rainbow of colors.  It sometimes amazes me how a single storm can give birth to clouds in so many forms, some light and some dark, some high and some low, yet each of them a bit player in a much larger production that contains far more strength than the sum of its parts.

Because the tempest developed in the late afternoon, the sun’s low position near the western horizon gave me a view colored in grays and whites and blues.  Tints made from deep, passionate hues roiled for some time.

I snapped a photo every minute or so, or at least as often as I remembered to do so.  Most of the time, however, I stood silently and let my eyes feast at nature’s board.  Tendrils of living evaporation constantly changed, metamorphosed, grew.

At the heart of the mass, lightning had already made its presence known.  Each flash waited but a few seconds before offering a low rumbling both on the air and in the ground.

Still, I held my place outside its umbrella of shadow, and I watched it take form as it drifted away from me.  Afterward, I was thankful for the show.

In early March I shared some photos of a female chironomid midge.  I mentioned at the time that I had also captured some photos of a male.  Unfortunately, I then forgot to post the photos.

Until now.

On the same day I took the pictures of the female, I chanced upon a male later in the afternoon who had attached himself to one of the window screens.  There he hung like a small ornament.

As I pointed out originally, these insects are quite docile, so it’s not terribly difficult to get up close to them for some personal photos.  I repeatedly invaded the little fella’s space while he simply lounged in the afternoon sun.

One problem I had not considered given his position, however, was the difficulty of photographing something on the outside of the screen with sunshine behind my back.  If I stayed out of the way of the light, the glass created tremendous reflection bouncing back to the camera.  If I stood in the way of the light to cast a shadow on my subject, too much light passed through the window and it became far too easy to capture background noise in the pictures.  Of course, were I at least somewhat proficient at taking photographs, I doubt any of that would be a real problem.  But I’m not.

Despite the challenges, though, I did get a few respectable shots.

The first thing to note are the plumed antennae.  For this species of insect—not to mention a great many others—that’s a sure sign of gender.  More specifically, it means this is a male.

While it’s difficult to see in these photos due to the insect’s color being so near that of the screen upon which he’s hanging, you might also be able to make out the pincers on the tip of its abdomen.  For many insect species, males use these for mating.  They allow him to grasp and hold the female’s abdomen to better ensure successful copulation.

The very next day as I stood on the patio enjoying my morning coffee, I noticed another midge hanging on the wall.  It too was a male.  The lack of bright light and its position gave me a better opportunity to capture additional details that were too difficult to see in the first set because of the illumination and background.

Again, the plumed antennae are quite obvious on this little gentleman.  That particular view also lends itself to the comparison of these midges with mosquitoes.  The similarities are undeniable, yet these are non-biting insects (unlike some of its cousin midges).

And there you finally get a clearer view of the pincers at the end of its body.

One thing to note is that I’ve yet to successfully identify the species of these little creatures.  I do know they are chironomids (Diptera: Chironomidae).  I also know, due to their large size, they are from the genus Chironomus.  However, because so many chironomid midges look similar and because there are so many native species of them in the area, I’m still having difficulty pinning down an exact identification.

[as originally noted, these insects are around half an inch (about 15 mm) long]