The small soft hairs at the base of your neck sway as we imagine me there. My feet are long, dry, and brittle, but not harsh. My hair is dusty, fragile, and dull, but not harmful. I could live so softly at the base of your skull. I would whisper kind words and flutter my wings ever so gently against your nape. You would have to excuse any dust I happen to shed, I would, of course, sweep it away, but I must also sleep, so it may sit there for a moment or two. You, of course, would have to be careful with me, do not scare and swat at me or create a lapse in focus and crush me between your fingertips.