This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2017/jun/22/misadventure-red-admirals-sails
The article has changed 4 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
| Version 2 | Version 3 |
|---|---|
| Misadventure trims a red admiral's sails | Misadventure trims a red admiral's sails |
| (6 days later) | |
| The open fields are no place for hot dogs in high summer. At other times dogs scamper along the straight tracks between wheat and barley, sometimes stopping to sniff, squat, or cock a leg, engrossed in a kind of Twitter wee. | The open fields are no place for hot dogs in high summer. At other times dogs scamper along the straight tracks between wheat and barley, sometimes stopping to sniff, squat, or cock a leg, engrossed in a kind of Twitter wee. |
| But when the sun burns overhead, it toasts cereals and thick coats alike. The dog walkers therefore come early here, and I run earlier still. | But when the sun burns overhead, it toasts cereals and thick coats alike. The dog walkers therefore come early here, and I run earlier still. |
| Recently my foot narrowly missed a closed-wing butterfly and, a few thinking paces later, I turned back. The red admiral, the bold beauty of its upper wings shut away from prying eyes, rested in the tractor tramline, cryptic wings held erect over its back. | Recently my foot narrowly missed a closed-wing butterfly and, a few thinking paces later, I turned back. The red admiral, the bold beauty of its upper wings shut away from prying eyes, rested in the tractor tramline, cryptic wings held erect over its back. |
| In a few minutes it would surely be pounded under the casual feet of someone who had eyes only for a wagging tail and twitching nose. | In a few minutes it would surely be pounded under the casual feet of someone who had eyes only for a wagging tail and twitching nose. |
| I reached with my finger between its white-tipped antennae and tickled its chin. The sleepy butterfly stretched out a crooked leg and grasped hold. I nuzzled down its tummy and saw that it had no more forelimbs – just two rear legs anchored to the ground. The huge sails of this three-legged beastie were tipping over. | I reached with my finger between its white-tipped antennae and tickled its chin. The sleepy butterfly stretched out a crooked leg and grasped hold. I nuzzled down its tummy and saw that it had no more forelimbs – just two rear legs anchored to the ground. The huge sails of this three-legged beastie were tipping over. |
| Just for a moment, the butterfly’s wings flicked slightly open in alarm. A great tear showed in one dusty forewing. | Just for a moment, the butterfly’s wings flicked slightly open in alarm. A great tear showed in one dusty forewing. |
| I cupped my hand round wings, body and feet and lifted the butterfly, feeling the healthy weight and bulk of its abdomen, an insect Cornish pasty for any peckish bird. | I cupped my hand round wings, body and feet and lifted the butterfly, feeling the healthy weight and bulk of its abdomen, an insect Cornish pasty for any peckish bird. |
| The poor creature had been sleeping overnight in one of the few shady places here, cooled for too long in the shadow of a thin shelter belt of trees. There was bare, sandy, soil at the corner of the next field and I thought it best to move it gently into the sun for a solar charge. | The poor creature had been sleeping overnight in one of the few shady places here, cooled for too long in the shadow of a thin shelter belt of trees. There was bare, sandy, soil at the corner of the next field and I thought it best to move it gently into the sun for a solar charge. |
| But it would not leave. Though I opened my hand its sticky fingers held tight, as if it was determined to cling to its self-appointed protector. I shook it loose on to the sun-baked soil, a lopsided animal that could barely walk or fly – saved from one fate and carried off to face another. | But it would not leave. Though I opened my hand its sticky fingers held tight, as if it was determined to cling to its self-appointed protector. I shook it loose on to the sun-baked soil, a lopsided animal that could barely walk or fly – saved from one fate and carried off to face another. |
| Follow Country Diary on Twitter: @gdncountrydiary | Follow Country Diary on Twitter: @gdncountrydiary |
| Butterflies | Butterflies |
| Country diary | Country diary |
| Insects | Insects |
| Wildlife | Wildlife |
| Summer | Summer |
| features | features |
| Share on Facebook | Share on Facebook |
| Share on Twitter | Share on Twitter |
| Share via Email | Share via Email |
| Share on LinkedIn | Share on LinkedIn |
| Share on Pinterest | Share on Pinterest |
| Share on Google+ | Share on Google+ |
| Share on WhatsApp | Share on WhatsApp |
| Share on Messenger | Share on Messenger |
| Reuse this content | Reuse this content |