Tuesday, July 31, 2012


Last week was National Moth Week in the US of A.

On the terrace, in the republic of Brooklyn, every night has been moth night. They love the agastache, above. I am amazed that there is anything left in the tiny labiate flowers for all the pollinators who visit. The bees and flies of daytime, the moths at night.

I look up sometimes, into the dark, and see their soft forms whirring from pot to pot. Up here on the top floor of this brownstone full of people in apartments, there is something comforting about their pale, silent, nocturnal work.
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