The big problem with butterflies is that they just can’t concentrate. I’m sure they’d get a lot more done if they’d just focus. They have a very short life, so you would think that they would knuckle down from the minute they first flapped their wings. Obviously you can’t write your autobiography until you’ve lived enough life to have something to write about. Occasionally though, you do need to sit still and gather your thoughts. This constant flitting from one thing to another just won’t get you anywhere.
This guy is a case in point. I must have chased him/her up and down the road half a dozen times trying to be within range and in visual contact. This is the best picture I could manage – and I needed to cut a piece out of the middle of the original, just so we would have an image that you wouldn’t need a magnifying glass to find the butterfly in.
He or she is a Ringlet (only another Ringlet can tell the difference without a microscope) so named because of the little dots on the wings – which not all ringlets have, but they do all have the light coloured edging on their wings. They love a damp climate (no problem there then) and will even fly about in a light rain. The female makes no attempt to lay her eggs in a secure place, she just drops them where ever she happens to be at the time.
Whatever happened to parental responsibility?