Not for Human Eyes

High in the canopy, on sunny days in early July, there is a dance taking place. A dance of love. A swirling ballet of courtship.

Like all dancers, even these tiny 15mm ones, they must sustain themselves. So down the dark little waifs fall with their straws to sip at the bramble bar. Replenishing spent energy for the next performance. As they do so their livery becomes apparent. Not meant for human eyes, daintily embroidered colours transfix us, stripy stockings, sulphur dipped antennas and small tails edged in frosty copper; finished with stitched chalked lines.

Even when nectaring these dancers still pirouette like music box ballerinas. Evolution can be mind bogglingly beautiful.