|
Where am I?
How did I get here?
The small black moth floated across my vision. I could not tell what it was at first, it was a blur. The blur hovered close to my face for a while, checking me out, perhaps I was a blur to it as well. At last it, pulled back, and I saw it properly. Dainty, its wings flapped furiously fast, it held itself aloft.
Tempted to reach out and touch it, I sat on my hands. I remember my mother telling me, that to touch a moth is to ensure its death. So delicate are its wings, that the slightest pressure breaks them. And so, they fall, out of their orbit, and lie destitute on a window sill. No more the moth they once were, out of circulation.
I do not know how long it takes for a moth to die, when it lies there, say on a windowsill. I do not know how a moth normally dies – does it get tired and stop for a rest, never to take off again. Or does it just fall out of the sky, suddenly, and unexpectedly?
Do birds just fall out of the sky dead? Do we know anymore, fe people ever think of animals dying naturally, at least not where I'm from. We just wonder, but never enquire.
If I did touch the moth, and it did fall, how long would I remember it?
How many things, like this moth, have occupied heightened moments, only to be forgotten? What will I remember tomorrow, that I can't/couldn't today?
|
