We call it a monsoon, but that’s not technically correct. Our wind pattern shift is only about 140 degrees, as opposed to the definition of 180 degrees, but it brings up plenty of tropical moisture from Mexico. And it’s like pouring gasoline on a fire. With the rains, life explodes here.
Every morning, there’s a story at the front door of the museum that I’m building. We have a crime light that stays on at night. And when I get to work, the drama is just winding down. We don’t spray for bugs, so life is abundant here. The actors come and go, worse than The Game of Thrones.
The theme seems to be that everything is food for other food.
The vast majority of the survivors are moths. The smallest of which are hanging around past sun up. Our monster Sphinx and Gypsy moths have gone home to sleep. But the variety is impressive. One morning I counted 14 varieties that made it through the night.
There is usually a desert toad poo on the side walk. Now we know where most the bodies went.
The Praying Mantis are hanging around too, sometimes up to five of them. By their size, you can tell their well fed.
And being Arizona, there’s a small Mountain Kingsnake that lives in a crack under the wall of the building. If he keeps gorging himself he’ll have to find a bigger home. He’s very fast, so I haven’t taken a good photo of him yet.
By mid afternoon the harvester ants have cleaned up the rest. That is, if they haven’t been eaten by the lizards.
I’m sure there’s transparent geckos at night here too.
Sometimes a flock of Blackbirds has cleaned up the mess.
So, every morning I check out the aftermath of the feeding frenzy that unfolded that night. There’s always live beetles that landed upside down, struggling to right themselves. They get swept onto the dirt so they can burrow down and lay eggs for next year.
I have not found a good source for identifying all of these little dudes, websites tend to focus on the bigger ones. So feel free to name them yourselves. Bonus points if it’s cute and funny.