The first bug. This is the one that got it all started. We were on a small, desolate island in the Canadian North. Well, not an island exactly. More of a peninsula. But we go there by boat so it may as well be an island. And by desolate, I mean a bustling lake, dotted with cottages. Anyway, I was off on my own exploring. Or perhaps processing my earlier beverages - I can't be sure. Nonetheless, this little baby was perched on the steps as if just waiting for me to happen by.
At first I though it was just a common Cecropia Moth, also known as Hyalophoa cecropia. But on closer inspection it became clear that it was the much rarer, Bulanık kahverengi ve beyaz hırka getirmeyi unutmayın or as translated from the original Turkish, Fuzzy Brown and White Sweater Moth. I couldn't believe my luck!
I crept closer, preparing to snap some photos before it could take wing. I clicked away, knowing at any time this moment could pass.
I was amazed at how utterly still he remained, with nothing but the slightest flutter of his wings as the breeze kissed both my cheek and his. Actually, I don't know if moths have cheeks. I risked moving closer, creeping slowly, expecting him to flit away on the wind. I reached out, tentatively at first but then, as I gained confidence, more quickly. As unbelievable as it was, he was letting me pet him! This sweet, fuzzy little beastie and I had made the ultimate connection. It was as if we were sharing our thoughts, bonding to one another. I was communing with nature in a way I never believed possible. Then I noticed his stupid, filthy wing dust all over my fingers. I immediately broke the mind-meld we had established and continued on my way. I can't be certain, but I think I heard a small, muffled, mothy sob.
I returned later and the little fellow was still sitting in the exact same place where I had left him. Clearly he was having difficulty moving on with life after our encounter. And when I searched my inner self, I realized that I too was struggling with the way we had left things. I moved toward him, determined to right a wrong. As I did so, a great gust of wind set my jacket to flapping. And, as I watched in horror, my new friend, the rare Fuzzy Brown and White Sweater Moth TIPPED OVER! His legs didn't move. He didn't move his wings. His tiny little buggy soul had left him. I sat on the steps and wept for the tragedy of it all. Such beauty. Gone.