24 June 2006

What they're wearing this winter

All day long they do nothing. They hang out in dark corners if they can, and if they can't, they keep out of the sun and warmth.

Moths are to butterflies what tugboats are to yachts. I've always loved tugboats. They have so much more depth of personality than yachts, working usefully without bragging about it; and if we could hear moths, I like to think their voices would be as deep and stirring as a tugboat's.

Moths live lives of great intrigue and touching vulnerability. They are elusive as many a rationale, in their element.

Many Australian moths are furrier than all but the warmest-garbed animals. And I do love fur. Their markings and feathered antennae are often more beautiful in a quiet way, than butterflies. Moths possess a Jane Eyre elegance, which seems appropriate as they sometimes look clothed in Victorian cashmere.

Sometimes it's hard to see which visitors of the previous night are resting and which are dying or dead. After a busy night last night, today this one moved one leg.

Last night a little sugar glider jumped and ate several moths, each one as big to the glider as a turkey, to you.

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