When we first met I was certain I knew you from past encounters.
Moving about under a leaf as you did, it was your coloration of yellow and brown bands with a hint of rust that first caught my attention and I bent over to say hello.
Those veined wings of two tones added to my sense that we knew each other well.
On your body I saw no hair, another reason to believe we’d met previously.
And your short antennae added to my certainty.
The way your thorax connected to your abdomen also bespoke your name, or so I thought.
But there was something different about you that made me question our relationship.
That beak of a mouth . . . to whom did it belong?
And below your mouth . . . was that a bug you were trying to dine upon? If so, that didn’t fit the picture of you I’d assumed.
As you held the supposed bug close, I noted that it remained the same size for minute after minute.
The closer I looked, the more I came to realize that it wasn’t a bug you feasted on, but rather it was a part of your body.
In the midst of trying to figure out your identification another flew to the edge of the woodland who also had wings of two tones.
There was no question in my mind that this dragonfly and I had never met before. If only I felt so sure about my encounter with you.
I’d thought from the start that you were a Paper Wasp for everything matched up . . . including your placid behavior. But . . . that insect that I was so sure you held, which didn’t make sense for your kind isn’t predatory, told me you were different. Rather, the bug was actually thick forelegs like a Praying Mantis might have. It was a strange mix of features that you shared, and I can only hope I’ll forever remember your name dear Wasp Mantidfly. You are a strong mimic of the one I thought you might be, but more closely related to the Mantis family.
As for the dragonfly, a Widow Skimmer added to today’s finds of the wonder wings of the west–the west being western Maine, of course.
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