Gloomy skies brighten. An enormous, seemingly dead cranefly dangling from a spiderweb flutters to life. I pull it free and it sails off.

A pale cranefly illuminated by the early-morning sun looks almost angelic, until it lands and begins groping its way with its antennae.

54°F. A cranefly clings to my elbow, landing gear spread wide as its clear wings flutter in the breeze, flags for the kingdom of water.