A moth lands on my arm. Her little feelers frantically probe around in the warm air radiating from my body.

She explores without fear. No hesitant mini-moth steps. Her movements quick and purposeful. She leaves behind a small trail of wing dust in her wake.

She searches for sweetness on my skin with her elongated proboscis. Dabbing here and there, finding nothing but the taste of sweat attributed to a long day in the sun.

She circles a few times, seemingly finding the most satisfaction from a small patch on my palm.

She stops, quivering slightly.

She senses something. Some unknown disturbance I am too large to gauge.

She gets ready to take flight. I can tell by the way her thorax tenses. The way she bends at her joints just ever so slightly, and tilts her wings up toward the free sky.

She flounders.

It is not a graceful exit. No magic in her movements. It is a clumsy lift off, but effective none the less.

She is gone.

I stare at the place where the tiniest of feet were only moments ago. Just a flesh memory now, fading as quickly as it came.