Learning to Look Closer #4

Most people probably wouldn’t have stopped for her.

She was just a little brown moth outside near the cat food.

And with cats around, that probably wasn’t the safest place for her to be.

So I picked her up.

I expected her to fight me.

To flutter her wings, scramble away, or do whatever tiny moths do when a giant human suddenly decides to scoop them up.

She didn’t.

She just let me.

No fighting.

No struggling.

She sat completely still on the tip of my finger while I carried her somewhere safer.

And maybe I’m giving a tiny moth far too much credit, but in that moment, it felt a little like trust.

So, naturally, I stopped to look closer.

Up close, she wasn’t just a little brown moth anymore.

Her head was covered in soft, golden-brown fuzz. Her wings looked almost like velvet, folded neatly against her back. Her antennae were impossibly thin, and those tiny black legs held onto my finger while I moved her away from danger.

She was beautiful.

Not in the bright, obvious way butterflies tend to be.

Moths are quieter about it.

Butterflies get flowers and gardens and people stopping to take pictures.

Moths get porch lights and people trying to shoo them out of the house.

But look closer.

There’s something beautiful about them, too.

Maybe that’s one of my favorite things about taking pictures.

It gives me an excuse to stop long enough to notice things I might otherwise walk right past.

The fuzzy head.

The tiny feet.

The way plain brown wings turn almost golden when the light hits them.

And sometimes, a tiny creature trusting you enough to let you carry her somewhere safe.

She was only on my finger for a little while.

But it was long enough for me to notice her.

Sometimes that’s all it takes.

— Destiny

P.S. What’s something small you almost overlooked lately?