As my flat faces south, I’m sheltered from the often strong, always bitterly cold nor’easterlies that blew relentlessly every day for the final week of 2025, and so my window ledge was the perfect spot for a basking Red admiral to soak up the sun’s warmth, although I couldn’t get a clear shot without disturbing it. I think 27 December is by far the latest date in the year I’ve ever seen a butterfly, though those species that overwinter as adults frequently do emerge from their version of hibernation (called diapause) when the temperatures are warm enough.
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