The Elegant Dancer

Towards the end of a walk along the Greenway, the sun having emerged from the gray clouds and quickly warmed the morning to a degree that encouraged me to move along more briskly than my usual wandering dawdle, I paused to inspect (yet another) common milkweed. Their heavy, pendant  inflorescences drooping under the broad leaves were lovely to see and smell, though their pollinator visitors were scarce at the moment. A fly here, a bee there.

A quick movement along the stem caught my eye. Was that one of those little signal flies with the black-patterned wings? It disappeared around the opposite side of the stem, then reappeared, black-spotted appendages flicking. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be not a fly at all but a spider, waving its long forelegs around each time it stopped its quick, short burst of motion. Each foreleg had a small black patch partway down, with a short fringe of black hair as additional decoration. What was it doing there on the milkweed, dashing about the stem and leaves, semaphoring with tiny, invisible flags. Or conducting a wee unseen orchestra, perhaps. Was it trying to fool its prey into thinking it was a harmless fly (sure fooled me!)? Was it trying to make itself look big and scary, to ward off predators?

Neither, it seems. This little spider seems to be Tutelina elegans, a jumping spider. Like its relatives, T. elegans males woo their mates with an erotic dance, flashing those extra-long legs with the handsome fringe in an elaborately choreographed sequence. Females are a shiny iridescent green with a larger abdomen, and lack the long, expressive forelegs.

I did not notice a female in the vicinity of my dancing friend on the milkweed. Males will dance not only as they woo a female, but also as they go in search of her. I imagine him on the prowl: surely she must be just around this stem? Or over on this leaf? Maybe under the leaf? When he finds her, I hope she is as impressed with his dance as I was.