The other day I met a visitor at the door – a gentleman. He was quietly spoken (in fact, he said nothing at all). The movement of his legs – box-cutter slashes appended from a box-cutter line – was graceful and refined. He did his best to blend in with the scenery – impossible! – then, disturbed, departed. Black micro-dot-eyed, he fluttered his lime-green wings in the middle of his foot-long length and, flying slowly at 45 degrees, completely disappeared into a thick bush nearby.