the small knobbed filaments near the base of the wings, called halteres, are modified from a pair of wings and work like gyroscopes, telling the insect about rotation of the body during flight. i know i should be gushing about the beautiful veined cellophane wings, but i’m too busy geeking out about the advanced cockpit systems of this very ancient aircraft.

crane fly

found on my window screen, saint paul, minnesota

my husband and i are of an age (50-ish) where we have done enough living–enough entertaining, enough traveling, enough school conferences, enough of enough things, so that when we want to plan a weekend in new york, for example, things usually fall into place. when we plan an extended trip to France, we know how to go about it, and we get there without feeling like raw tourists. but this weekend we are hosting a wine tasting for our visiting french friends, and things are not falling into place. at all. today was filled with avoidable pitfalls and forseeable setbacks. we spent the day trying to fit the beautiful rough-cut facets of our ideas for the event into the perfectly round and unforgiving hole of the event’s actual possibilities. like sitting at the café with let’s go: europe on the table, and a traveler’s phrasebook in front of our noses, trying to sound out the words grand café crème, and deux croque-monsieurs while the impatient server’s pencil hovers above his notepad.

quartz crystal points

from my son’s collection

my husband had a property inspection today which will probably now result in a house sale that will help very much in the overall effort to keep us solvent through the end of the year. it is an event that normally leads to a small,  contained family celebration. but steve barely had time to talk to me about his buyers and their new house when he came home. he had found this nest on the ground, fallen or knocked from beneath the rear deck, with one cold perfect tourmaline gem sitting in the center. a still gift.

robin nest with egg

lino lakes, minnesota

i know. it’s a heart. it’s a heart made of flowers. not just flowers. pink flowers. a pink flower heart. listen, i get it. but it’s spring. it’s 80 degrees. we just got our first good soaking rain. you’re with me, right? i mean, i’m not a pink-flower-heart kind of gal. but come on. the toads are singing. the blackbirds just went to bed. i heard a yellowthroat in the cattails today. i insist on being forgiven one heart, early in may, made of pink flowers.

crabapple blossoms

north oaks, minnesota