On the dark terrace a moth is drawn to the lilies by the heavy nightscent that drifts and curls from the tall flowers up to the surrounding rooves where it calls nocturnal pollinators before falling invisibly to the street and sidewalks where couples walking home from a late dinner sense it and start to talk again after three blocks of stubborn silence.The moth flies back and forth across the terrace from lily to lily, ill-equipped to process logically their overwhelming invitation and rests for a moment, stunned by my seldom-used flash, before taking flight again, bathing his wings in perfume, becoming drunk in the thick summer air, finding it impossible to leave the nameless suggestiveness that he has flown across rooftops to find.
I too, often find it impossible to leave the nameless suggestiveness that I have flown across rooftops (and a continent) to find. :-)
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written. I miss the heady scents of summer.
ReplyDeleteI think a couple of people need to see each other very very soon!
ReplyDeleteCentvingt - oh, you're sweet. Better than lilies.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Pam...I'm trying to imagine winter in Adelaide.
LOl, Mary. Don't worry, we are. Um, I was really writing about a moth, though, :-)
Mothy has found a very nice, sweet home...I bet he hangs around for a while...
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