MothA Moth at My Window

       Saw my computer light, huh? Thought you’d stop by and show-off the flutter of your wings while I try to write? Thank you, they are very nice as far as wings go. Are you doing that to keep warm? October has been mild the past three days, but the temps are supposed to drop like a rock tonight. You might be feeling it already… Is that an extra flutter I see?

To be honest, I don’t know what moths do when it gets dark, and cold. Do you find a crack in some wall and hunker down with your wings wrapped around you, your little legs tucked up tight against your tummy? Or do you just shiver and think “burrrr, its cold”? Which brings up the question: do moths fly south for the winter, like the robins, and the starlings and bluejays and sparrows? I’ve seen them, you know, flurrying from the sky this past week like dark-winged snowflakes, swooping in to land on comfy tree branches. Will you follow them tomorrow morning when they leave? Well, that’s probably a silly question. After all, you’re not much bigger than thumb-nail. And even with an “I think I can, I think I can” attitude, I doubt you’d get more than 3 or 4 miles south before tuckering-out. Please, don’t take offence. Anyway, do you ever wish you were a bird? I do, sometimes, when my writing bogs down or I’m feeling blue. Then I want to fly away, beyond the county line, free from the folly of life. I guess, though, that you and I are pretty much locked into who we are, aren’t we? Still, as an afterthought, have you ever wondered whether birds sometimes wish they were moths, or men?

Wait…good, you’re coming back. For a moment I thought you were leaving, probably because of the tuckered-out comment. I mean it’s okay if you go, but it would also be nice if you would stay a little longer, if you want. By the way, where are your friends? Are you flying solo tonight? Oh, of course. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of a flock of moths, or a gaggle of moths, or even a flight of moths. It must be lonely being a moth.

Hey, you’re making me smile at your antics. The way you skirt around, up and down, this way and that – like you’re busy doing something important. It reminds me of people I know who do much the same. But yeah, it’s getting awfully dark and chilly. I’d invite you in, but I don’t think you’d be much of a pet. I can’t see you dozing in front of my fireplace, or going for walks. Besides, you’d probably eat my clothes. Or maybe lay dozens of eggs, giving me more moths to feed. Get it? It’s almost a pun, like in, more mouths to feed, especially if you say it fast. No, huh? Well, no big deal, it’s not my best work. Actually, there’s a lot a people who wouldn’t get it either. In fact, they’d look at me funny, something they already do because I write. I think that’s one of the things I like best about you — you don’t judge…

…oh, okay, bye. It’s been a few minutes now, so I don’t expect you’ll be back. Well, good luck and stay safe, moth. Watch out for hungry bats. Oh, in case you do wind up going a lot farther south than I gave you credit for, will you think of me when you pass south of Illinois, and then keep flying for the both of us – just like the birds?



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