The moth was floating on top of the water bucket. She looked so beautiful her lacy wings spread thin, almost translucent, on the surface of the water.
I wanted to take a picture, but by now I know that just because they are not moving doesn’t mean they are dead. So instead I floated my finger tip gently under the water, under the moth, and lifted her out.
It was only moments before she started to pull her wings in then release her drowned antennas.
I gently slid her off my finger onto the fencepost where she blended perfectly with the weathered wood.
Today a friend told me that her father used to catch flies in a glass and put them outside instead of killing them. I use a fly swatter, wouldn’t have thought of doing that.
And yet….
By now the sheep were baaing and the donkeys were impatiently pushing the sheep around, because they could. Zip was pacing in front of the gate and the chickens were clucking, reminding me they too wanted to be fed.
So I didn’t wait to see her fly away, but I know, from experience, that eventually she did.
