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.