Black Moth

Last night, a visitor arrived unannounced. Hitching a ride as I entered my house.

Returning home from a Sunday out and about with friends, farmers market by the river, tapas and rosé in the late August sun, warm cookies beneath trees older than time, and arms lovingly linked with a close friend during a summers walk. It had been a day of laughter, nourishment, and friendship, the kind of day that left my soul humming.

So from where the creature on my shoulder came, I cannot say. A black moth… dusty, midnight grey, perched quietly as I entered my house. Small and still, yet content, he clung to me until I gently blew him into flight. He toured my home that evening, never straying too far from sight.

I spent the evening aware of his presence. Lively and kind, he followed me into my bedroom as I settled for the night, fluttering about, chasing the light.

I dreamt deeply. In sleep, a lover’s embrace held me, soft and safe, as though the universe itself leaned in to comfort. Slowly waking, I felt the echo of a phantom kiss linger at my lips. When my eyes opened, I found the moth resting on the pillow beside me, as though he had landed there with a quiet need to rest.

And then I saw, his darkness had turned to light. The dusty black of his body had shed onto the pillow, leaving a faint shadow of my friend. When I exhaled gently, he did not stir. The beautiful black moth had died amid my dreams right next to me.

Throughout the morning, as I sipped my chai, I wondered and pondered why this moth spent his last night, a lifetime to such a creature, with me. And why he chose to keep vigil beside me, a companion to my dreams, a witness to my rest, a bearer of mystery as he sighed his last breath.

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