Winged Fury

One of the things about relocating, albeit temporarily, is that you must get used to new environments. I'm usually a pretty quick study, but living alone for the first time after almost ten years of roommates, significant others, apartment buildings with multitudes of people, and the general stacking of people that comes with city living has left me a little rusty.

Nights are the hardest: every creak is creepy, every sound is suspicious. The likelihood of anyone actually taking the time to bother this remote neck of the woods is slim to none. My relative spartan existence is, I have to believe, even less tantalizing. Unless, of course, said intruder has a strange propensity for the ingredients of a peanut butter and banana sandwich on oatmeal bread or my particular brand of ballpoint pen and college ruled notebooks. It'd be a bit like robbing only aisles 4 (school supplies) and 7 (bare necessities) of your local drug store. Not a particularly lucrative occupation, in any case.

At any rate, I've been taking the necessary precautions: locking doors, securing valuables, and leaving lights on to allay my fears should I wake suddenly in the middle of the night. The first two have no more sinister consequence than providing me with a little peace of mind. The third, however, brings its own particular brand of creepiness.

This, being the mountainous wilds. This, being the great wide open. This, being Mother Nature in all her splendiferous glory.

This, being the primary stomping grounds of all things that like bright and shiny lights in the dead of the night.

So when I woke this morning and went about undoing all the security measures I had so carefully put in place last night, I was met by an entire legion of things that do not go gentle into that good night.

Warning: Not for those of you who don't like bugs, or specifically, moths.

I give you:

These and a whole host of their friends were there to greet me this morning. These two guys in particular caught my attention because... Well, because they're BIG AS F&%$ and because, at 6:30 pm, they are still there.

The part of me that forces me to leave the lights on at night has decided these guys are just waiting for the right time -- dark, or darker -- at which point they will exact their ever-loving revenge on me. It is 6:30; and I have already locked the doors and turned on some very other lights, very far away. Cuz hell hath no fury like a moth stuck in your window screen.