Yesterday a miller moth flew out of my jeans as I was
putting them on. I will not comment on the symbolism of that moment.
Later, another moth flew out of the glass I use to take my
pills.
I know they are harmless. They do not bite. They do not chew
holes in your clothes or curtains. But they are so rude! They hide in the shadows, along window moldings, on stair
bannisters, and in paneling and window frames.
They are small, dull brownish creatures that you would
barely notice if they didn’t move.
As these insects migrate from the plains to the mountains,
they seem drawn to my house and front porch and garage. It’s the wood. They
like the wood on the porch and the west side of the garage.
And there are so many of them!
One evening noises from the
interior caused me to hesitate before opening the side garage door. Fearing an intruder, I peeked in only to
discover legions of moths flying into the garage windows. There must have been sixty
of them hurling themselves against the panes. When I open the garage to drive somewhere, a cloud of moths
rushes out over the alley.
Although they seem to be everywhere (little moth corpses
pepper my carpets and floors) there are fewer than in years past. When my two cats were younger, they loved to
chase them, catch them, eat them . . . then regurgitate them. By turning off
all lights except those in the upstairs bathroom, I would entice both the moths
and cats away from other parts of the house then close the door, leaving the
insects to their feline fate.
Now I have only one cat, who is old and totally
disinterested.
This year’s gang seems, at last, to be diminishing. Those
that are not dead have evidently made it to cooler altitudes. And I can put my
jeans on without checking.
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