That morning, I walked slowly through the dew-drenched grass. I had no particular intention, just to enjoy the fresh air and feel the softness of the earth beneath my feet. I held my phone camera casually, just in case there was a beautiful scene worth capturing.
Suddenly, my eyes fell on a small glint at the tip of a plant sprout. I approached, slowly so as not to disturb it. And there it was—a green fly with a body as shiny as a jewel, perched peacefully. Its wings were translucent, its body glistened a metallic blue, and its red eyes stared intently as if aware of my presence.
Without any planning, I raised my camera and took a picture. The fly didn't move. Even as I took several angles, it remained there—as if giving me time to capture its charm.
Soon afterward, it moved to another flower, still within range of my camera. That's where I captured my second image: the fly now seemed more alive, closer, more real. Every detail of her body was clearly visible—as if she had come specifically to brighten my day and my photo gallery.
The moment was brief, but it left a lasting impression. Sometimes, beauty comes unexpectedly. Not from grand or extraordinary things, but from the small creatures we usually overlook. That day, a green fly had changed my day.