1. A fly landed on my arm and I brushed it away.
2. I brushed away the fly that landed on my arm.
3. I looked to see what landed on my arm. It was a fly. I brushed it away.
4. When I felt something on my arm (right), I raised it to look. It was a fly. I thought of the bush flies in Australia as I brushed it away, how tenacious they were. They’d land on your back and resist efforts to shrug or brush them off. They’d swarmed your face so you’d duck and flail. It was never one, like the fly just now. It was many.
5. Didn’t I read somewhere that the skin is the largest organ in (on?) the body? It’s sensitivity is so refined we can feel tiny ants crawl on us, the subtlest of breezes. The fly I brushed away had no subtlety.