Today was all about the little things, most of which seem determined not to be seen. Squatting and peering under leaves, following a tiny moth as it fluttered through the grass, searching for the host of a web spun between pine needles, I paused to consider the brown, out-of-place petals protruding from a flower corolla. Then I realized that they were moving of their own accord. This recalled another such instance on a hike, when a similar assortment of petals made its way across a daisy, and turned out to be the caterpillar of an emerald moth, or a camouflage looper. This current ragamuffin, which had attached bits of petal to itself until completely covered, was so minute that I couldn’t tell how best to photograph it, or where a head or legs might even be. Its movements were erratic; it appeared to lift its head every so often and then lower it to resume feeding, blending in with the other petals.
Rounding the corner into the garden, I looked hard at the zinnias and cosmos, expecting a spider at least, but found nothing. The joe-pye weed had nearly all gone to seed, but the last bit of pink betrayed an ominous shape: a jagged ambush bug. It straddled a blossom like an apocalyptic insect horseman, its round eyes bulging and its fearsome hooked forelegs ready to pounce. Only a few millimeters long, it tackles prey many times its size.
I wonder if an ambush bug would be fooled by a camouflage looper, or if the looper would notice the ambush bug.