Spotted more of them mysterious, or possibly even mystical, Thingy Peeple down in little Ela Wood.
This is the secretive Blite Witherins.
Looked in need of sustenance
About 30 feet further on was this fearsome fella
Goes by the name of Knuck van Noisome. Has been know to instigate mishaps and misdemeanours.
Both of them are from the Onerous genus.
Off this sunny Sunday afternoon to give the new Lumix DMC40 a try out.
Waiting by the Dart river to see if Beautiful Demoiselles might still be around.
And then dropped down this Red Darter dragonfly.
Right in front of where I stood, only 4 feet away.
Having a mini break from dizzy darting about.
In a headspin she was. Chewing a fly.
I bent down to get near but she shot up in the air scraping past the top of my head.
I waited around for a while to see if she’d come back.
But she didn’t.
Had to content myself instead with wagtails bouncing about on the far bank.
And being dipped in delicious by the lovely sunny river.
Little Egrets are everywhere these days.
This fella was less than 2 minutes from Morrisons in Totnes.
He was taking selfies of himself in the Dart river
Absolutely no self-esteem issues whatsoever.
You could do some serious stabbing with that filleting spike of a beak.
He was only about 30 feet away from where I stood.
But his miscroscopic mind, his total attention, was on far more important matters.
A Stiniel Squirrel.
Munching merrily away on his nuts (as squirrels are wont to do)
All fluffily cute and charming.
But what happened next wasn’t (cute or charming)
His big bushy tail was all that was left of him (plus a foot) the following morning.
Buster the big feral farm cat had had him for breakfast.
We picked this up on Dawlish Warren sands.
No idea what it was. Small, fragile, delicate. Intriguing.
Turns out its a ‘Heart Urchin’. Or to give it its more prosaic name ‘sea potato’.
Here’s an heart urchin still alive.
And looking kind of ‘urchin-like’ in that picture.
The paper-thin casing (we found) is what remains of the heart urchin in its ‘test’ form.
There were dozens of them on the beach. Casualities of the storms that blew across the Bay back in March possibly.
We collected 3, but 2 didn’t survive the vagaries of my trouser pocket and were crushed into fine particles.
This one, fortunately still in tact, sits on the windowsill in Haze’s kitchen.
(PS: The stitch-like threading vaguely reminds me of the American softballs my mom used to sow together back in the 70’s)
This is a Lovely Lady.
She called a Hazel.
This is a buzzy Bee
It called a Mason.
The Hazel and The Mason decided to have a little chat.
Words & Vid: Ian Nisbet
A slow walk to the Dart river.
Yet more notices about picking up poo
(I presume this isn’t a Phantom Poo Person on the loose, but the usual dog doo dah bollocks)
Somebody had been out picking up, not Poo – Plastic.
A ceremonial pile of plastic laid out right next to the river Dart.
Plus a couple of glass bottles, some tin cans, a trainer, and other sundry detritus.
Maybe a nice person picking up plastic but without a plastic bag to bin it with.
Or an angry person making a point of drawing attention to how much plastic gets carelessly thrown around perhaps?
It drew my attention. So I took those pictures. To post on the blog.
(Unfortunately I hadn’t got anything on hand to bin this plastic heap of crap either)
Everywhere around on this Easter Bank Holiday Monday was as inert, as dead, as that plastic pile of poo.
But nothing inert about the river Dart today.
Positively bouncing and bubbling along with unstoppable energy, necessary life.