Skeleton leaf

I found this almost intact skeleton leaf when it was raking up the leaves from under the hedge. The network of smaller and smaller veins is the plant's amazing distribution and collection system for the living cells in the leaf - water carried outwards via the xylem to the outer reaches of the leaf then sugars, made by photosynthesis in the leaf cell chloroplasts, carried back into the plant. A wondwerful example of the beauty of the functional in nature...

What does it feel like to swallow a live crab...?

 After yesterday's gales the sea was a tad choppy along the Roker seafront at Sunderland today.....

.... but with reassuring British fortitude this couple were taking afternoon tea on the promenade as the waves smacked into the sea wall...

 .... meanwhile, in the sheltered mouth of the River Wear this eider duck was fishing for crabs .....

..... spending quite a while manoeuvring this one into the right position in its beak so that it could swallow it in one gulp. I wonder what it feels like to swallow a live (and very angry) crab?

Meanwhile, the rough seas and rising tide had driven the turnstones up onto the promenade .......

.... where the starlings were taking a bath in the puddles left by yesterday's torrential rain.

Nature's Velcro

If you go out for a country walk at this time of year there's a good chance that you'll return with some of these burdock seed heads stuck to your clothing. Those hooked burrs are difficult to remove when they hook into woven cloth ..... which is why they provided Swiss engineer George de Mestral with the inspiration for Velcro fastenings.


When I was a kid we used to chuck these at each other on the way home from school - and Shakespeare probably did too because he refers to their clinging qualities in several of his plays. The simple pleasures of a rural childhood transcend time. 


In Troilus and Cressida, act 3, scene 2.....
Pandarus.
They are Burs, I can tell you; they'll stick where they are thrown.


In As You Like It, act 1, scene 3.....
Celia.
They are but Burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths our very petticoats will catch them.
Rosalind.
I could shake them off my coat; these Burs are in my heart.