The pale mottled brown moth had always tried to her best. From the moment she’d struggled out of the chrysalis, she’d known to follow the one true light of the Moon. When dusk fell and she circled the air for the tiny insects that kept her alive, she was mindful of the gentle silent moonlight, master of tides – always there, even when unseen, content to reflect the light of the sun.
One dark, wet evening when the moth was struggling to find enough food, she looked up into the sky to take comfort from the Moon, but it couldn’t be seen – what she did see was a bright orange light coming from a building. The brightness took her breath away and drew her inexorably towards it, tantalising her with its intensity. In through a window she flew, exhilarated and intoxicated by its pull and hold on her until she surrendered, circling round and round in a dizzying dance of death; her shadow, now larger than her, copied her drunken movements. A red heat seared her body – she felt it burn.
In that moment a kind wind blew through the window, cooling her enough to allow her to dive away from the light. She called on all her inner strength to lift her up into the air and follow the direction of the wind, out through the window and into the elements that were her home. Joy lifted her wings and she felt, even more strongly than before, the presence of the moon, guiding her flight.