I saw a moth resting on the garage window, no doubt tired of the brutal summer day. For no intelligent reason I nudged her, poke and poke until she flew for me. Though not a butterfly, she danced like the best of them and if she was tired then what a beauty it is to be tired. She had a splendid garden to land on, but she chose the ugliest tree. A camouflaged lizard attacked and ate the dear moth right before me. And so I make this note: please future me, let moths be. Armando