A Tiny Dry Moth

Walked back inside out of the dark yard. Floorboards cool against my bare feet. Over by the heavy brass lamp, something fluttered weak in the low draft. A pale, dry moth trapped upside down between two thick brass screw heads. Tiny paper-thin wings trembling. One hard stomp would crush it to dust. I stopped dead. Dropped slow onto wide bare knees. Breathed quiet. Big hands, delicate wings. I didn't grab with fists. Slid the smooth edge of one thick green thumbnail flat under its belly. Lifted very gentle. It rested light on my thumb, then flapped slow into the dark corner. Whole. Safe now.