It is difficult for me to recollect a time when I was not fascinated with the very notion of a desert. Walt Disney's film, The Living Desert, which I initially saw when I was 8 years of age, provided me with my first glimpse of this wondrous yet seemingly ho stile environment. The images were hypnotic and captivating. I looked on in amazement at the promenade Cl deux of the male and female scorpions during courtship. Their rhythmic and coordinated movements as they grasped one another made them appear to glide in unis on over the surface of the sand, each individual totally absorbed with its partner. In the next minute the fern ale had suddenly and utterly transformed herself like some Jekyll and Hyde act, into an aggressive predator whose prior gregarious embrace was now a hold of death for the male. The indomitable desert grasshopper mouse, the ever sentient kit fox, the graceful shovel-nosed snake swimming in an endless sea of sand.

What little we know of the biology of desert invertebrates stems largely from inferences based on intensive and repeated observations. Such informa tion is not gained easily, since despite the actual abundance of these animals, relatively few of them are ever seen. In fact, except for species impacting on the well-being of human populations, historically most have been ignored by scholars in the western world. Indeed, it was ancient Egypt, with its reverence for the symbolism of the scarab, that probably provided us with the clearest early record of prominent desert types. A more modest resurgence of the story had to wait until the arrival of the present century. To be sure, some of the more obvious species had by then been elevated by European collectors to the level of drawing-room curios ities, and expeditions had returned large numbers to museums. But by 1900 the task of describing desert species and relationships among them was still in its infancy; and as for careful natural history studies, they too were just coming into their own.

Paleontologists and geologists struggle with research questions often complicated by the loss or even absence of key paleobiological and paleoenvironmental information. Insight into this missing data can be gained through direct exploration of analogous living organisms and modern environments. Creative, experimental and interdisciplinary treatments of such ancient-Earth analogs form the basis of Lessons from the Living. This volume unites a diverse range of expert paleontologists, neontologists and geologists presenting case studies that cover a spectrum of topics, including functional morphology, taphonomy, environments and organism-substrate interactions.

My interest in the behaviour and movements of birds of arid and semi-arid ecosystems began when my wife, Sue Milton, and I were Roy Siegfried, Director, at that time, of the Percy approached by Prof. FitzPatrick Institute of African Ornithology, to set up a project to investigate granivory in the South African Karoo. Sue and I spent some time finding a suitable study site, setting up accommodations and an automatic weather station at Tierberg, in the southern Karoo near the village of Prince Albert, and planning projects. Among our first projects was a transect where we noted plant phe nology, measured seed densities on the soil surface, counted birds, observed ant activity, measured soil surface temperatures and col lected whatever climate data we could at 40 sites along a 200-km oval route. Along the way, we became interested in the marked presence and absence of birds at certain sites - abundant birds one day, and very few birds at the same site a month later. Subsequent counts along fixed transects through shrublands confirmed that a number of bird species were highly nomadic over short and long distances, locally and regionally, leading to speculation on how widespread these movements were in the arid ecosystems of the world.

Annual desert plant species of unrelated taxa in the Negev Desert of Israel have developed complementary sets of adaptations and survival strategies as ecological equivalents with physiological, morphological and anatomical resemblances, in the various stages of their life cycles. After 40 years of research in hot deserts Yitzchak Gutterman provides a comprehensive treatise of such adaptations and strategies. In doing so he covers the following topics: post-maturation primary seed dormancy, which prevents germination of maturing seeds before the summer; seed dispersal mechanisms with escape or protection strategies; cautious or opportunistic germination strategies; seedling drought tolerance. The day-length is an important factor in regulating flowering as well as the phenotypic plasticity of seed germination which is also affected by maternal factors.

Usually authors write introductions for their books, although they know that not many readers will read it. Despite this, authors insist on writing an introduction and no publisher will publish a book without one. I would like to inform my dear readers that I have spent almost all of the first quarter of my life in a village in the Nile Delta, 65 km north of Cairo. The everyday scenery there was the beautiful green landscape dissected with canals full of running water. All of these were bordered with the huge sycamore, mulberry and acacia trees. The desert was something unknown to me at that time, except for the very basic information given in geography books, which explained that the desert is a place without water or cultiva tion. Some of my ideas about the desert came to me from the stories in the history of Islam and the desert lands where Islam originated. My real attraction to the desert developed in the last year of my under graduate studies. This was during the field courses in Ecology (Prof. A.M.

My initial interest in the Solifugae (camel-spiders) stems from an incident that occurred in the summer of 1986. I was studying the behavioral ecology of spider wasps of the genus Pepsis and their interactions with their large theraphosid (tarantula) spider hosts, in the Chihuahuan Desert near Big Bend National Park, Texas. I was monitoring a particular tarantula burrow one night when I noticed the resident female crawl up into the burrow entrance. Hoping to take some photographs of prey capture, I placed a cricket near the entrance and waited for the spider to pounce. Suddenly, out of the comer of my eye appeared a large, rapidly moving yellowish form which siezed the cricket and quickly ran off with it until it disappeared beneath a nearby mesquite bush. So suddenly and quickly had the sequence of events occurred, that I found myself momentarily startled. With the aid of a headlamp I soon located the intruder, a solifuge, who was already busy at work macerating the insect with its large chelicerae (jaws). When I attempted to nudge it with the edge of my forceps, it quickly moved to another location beneath the bush. When I repeated this maneuver, the solifuge dropped the cricket and lunged at the forceps, gripping them tightly in its jaws, refusing to release them until they were forcefully pulled away.