I have nothing against butterflies. They are completely magical. Delicate, colorful—how can you not be glad to have seen one?
Part of their magic, I think, is that they seem to be always moving. You can follow one a long way, trying to see it up close, but just when you think it will land it is off again, elusive as a thought.
I’ve had a different experience with moths. Not the nervous ones that throw themselves at porch lights. The other ones—the ones you find in daylight, at rest. The ones that surprise you because you always think of moths as frantic and dusty and colorless, but this one is so big, so beautiful, so still.
There is something special about a creature that allows itself to be seen. Holding a luna moth is a different experience, altogether, than chasing a butterfly. You move and breathe differently, your whole concept of fragile changes.
And that, really, is what I want to leave you with today.
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