Fake bird.

     Cicadas aren't the only insects on earth you know. It only seems that way, at the moment. (Someone asked me what the cicadas were like in Northbrook, and I said it's like being an extra in the David Lynch film "Eraserhead.") Right now, for a non-cicada bug to be noticed, it has to practically leap out in front of you.
     Which is more or less what this handsome specimen of a polyphemus moth did, showing up smack in the middle of the sidewalk while I escorted Kitty down Catherine Street the other morning. It wasn't flapping, but just sort of resting there — a sure sign of distress, as moths are nocturnal.

    People go on and on about butterflies, though moths are practically the same — less colorful, more furry, denizens of the night instead of the day. Moths rest with their wings spread, as above, while butterflies in repose fold their wings back.   

    I assumed the moth must be dying, and didn't want to molest the poor creature as it expired. Though I took this photo of it — upside down, and kept it that way because you really see how the moth disguises itself as a great horned owl, at least long enough to give a predator pause and perhaps facilitate the moth's escape.

     No escape for this poor fellow, I'm afraid. Walking away, it struck me that, in nearly a quarter century perambulating around the ol' leafy suburban paradise, I don't believe I've ever seen one before. For a moment I slowed, thinking I should turn back and, I don't know, collect it or something. Pin the thing in a frame, as a trophy. 

     I kept going. Kinda late for me to take up butterfly-and-or-moth collecting. Beside, one of the key functions that moths and butterflies fill is to transform plant material into animal food, by being eaten. Best to leave this behind as a snack for some hungry bird.

     A fate both moths and butterflies try to avoid, using camouflage — blending into their surroundings — and mimicry, as above, pretending to be something they're not.
     A common defense in the animals world, including humans, now that I think of it. I sure try to present myself as a bigger, fiercer creature than I actually am. Nor am I alone. At the risk of veering political, this fragile Lepidoptera posing as an hardy avian predator could remind us of a certain brittle, weak and dim-witted egomaniac puffing himself as a strongman genius looking out for the common man. 

     Or maybe not — this bug isn't hideous, for starters. Nature might be indifferent, but it's rarely cruel. For some people, cruelty seems the whole point of their existence.