The Moth Box
We have caught the light. It sleeps in here, pulled in by light. We open it in day, take out the shapes and name them. Scorched Wing, Tussock, White Ermine, Marbled Coronet, Green Carpet, Phoenix. We lift them out, look at them through hand lenses, marvel at their intricacy. We leave them in the shade to sleep out, they merge into garden. Later, they will flap in quick quivers, heat their delicate tield wings, soar into the dark. Sue Moules |
Youth
Spring lambs jump for joy heedless that their destiny is to become sheep Martin Locock |