I am not a super sleuth.
Peering out the window, I saw an amazing bright orange moth sitting on my porch, soaking up the sun. I bolted out the door to take a photo with my phone.
But he folded himself into a crispy brown fall leaf, swaying lightly in the breeze.
I froze and waited.
Slowly he unfolded.
I inched forward.
Again he folded up.
I inched forward, thinking I would get closer while he was folded and then wait for him to open again with me close enough to capture his splendor.
But he fluttered off to sit on the neighboring porch.
I followed slowly, admiring the large orbs on the top of his antennae. A few feet away, I snapped a photo, hoping it would turn out despite the distance.
Too dark.
I inched foward some more.
He fluttered off, deciding distance was the best way to lose me.
So far, I cannot identify him in a search, and my memory of his details are fading as a peruse through endless images of moths with red-orange and black wings that fold into a crispy brown leaf.
