I grew up in Northern Virginia, a place where winter was a time to await the snow. Things are different here in Texas: winter is a time to await the butterflies.

The last week has been filled with unusually warm days and the plants are celebrating. Salvia, skeleton leaf goldeneye, and Copper Canyon daisies receive attention from clouds of insects, it seems. The garden sings. It amazes me every year. Just when I think I should be cutting things back and preparing for the winter, the yard springs to life.

Fall is the time for migration, the last hurrah for many of the creatures in my yard. There are three fall-bloomers that, for me, signify the arrival of fall - maximillian sunflower, frostweed, and goldenrod. But not everyone loves them as much as I do. Sometimes they are referred to as weeds, and my heart sinks. They are tall, taller than me, and lanky. They grow in large clumps, and they spread. They don't stand up straight, especially after a storm. They are wild.

This morning a flutter caught my eye. On the driveway, I found an enormous polyphemus moth, one of the largest silk moths. I called to my son to join me. He is obsessed with Greek mythology and this gorgeous creature was named for a giant cyclops. The two owl-like eye spots on the hind wings scare away predators, I'm sure.

As I gently lifted the moth, its wings covered the span of my cupped hands. I moved it out of the driveway into the leaf litter nearby. Lost in the fallen leaves, we marveled at its ability to camouflage itself.

I once read that movement is the way to know if your yard has become a thriving habitat for critters, large and small. If you stop to observe, our yard looks like an airport during the holidays. Darting, diving, flying, hopping, and scurrying take place throughout the day and into the night. For some, this would be less than ideal, but for me, a wildlife gardener, this is what it's all about!

A few weeks ago, a parade of tiny leopard frogs hopped from the side yard toward our new water feature, a pondless waterfall that mimics the local rivers here. At the same time, I noticed a dragonfly flicking water at the vegetation with the end of her abdomen. It turns out that with every flick, she was depositing an egg and hurling it at the leaves of a plant nestled in the water.

On Sunday, I stepped outside to discover a joyous curiousity : inchworms hanging from silken threads . . . EVERYWHERE. It was impossible to walk without entangling myself in the web-like strands. Miniature hitchhikers stuck to my fleece jacket at every turn. With the help of a lively breeze, the twig-like caterpillars swung this way and that, like upside down kites. What were these insects up to?

Of course, I wanted to identify the insect ninjas that were zip-lining down from the oak trees. With iphone in hand and my iNaturalist app at the ready, I attempted to get a picture. My first efforts resulted in fuzzy brown dots, blurred by the unrelenting wind. Then I carefully placed the critters on different colored backgrounds - a leaf or the driveway. Sometimes referred to as loopers, their unique method of locomotion - pulling the center of their body upward and then extending their bodies out straight - is remarkably efficient. At times, I ran to my husband yelling, "Quick! Quick! Get a picture of the inchworm on my arm!" (He is used to this kind of strange behavior, thank goodness.) Finally, on day two, a photo opportunity arose when I spotted an inchworm on the inner rim of my red coffee mug, left behind in the garden. Perfect, or so I thought. No luck. I did send off an image to iNaturalist for identification.