Night Lights

So Vince, myself and little Sam set up the moth trap long after the
ripe peach sun had sunk and the other naturalists had headed for the
bar. A fluorescent strip bulb to confuse their navigation, entice them
to our night lights. We arenot good men. We are not even pure scientists.
We do not reach for Orion's belt; Mintaka, Alnilam, Alnitak.

Cut into my memory like a hot knife in my back. The recollection is stained like your hand motion, like a blood stained wedding dress. We slipped into Caer Llan to join the drunken party, our fellowship broken like a choirboys voice.

The next morning there were three in there, crouching still, all worn
out with fluttering, but two were the same species so we really only
had two to identify. One a marbled whitespot his
tree bark wings folded like tissues and the other a Micropterigidae so
tiny and wise looking, his mouth parts rotating, his metallic wings
quivering small.

The second morning we found five in there and three were still
searching for escape, dancing the irregular tango round the capture
drum. A Gold Swift the milk spattered back patter
stroking the russet silk, a Map Winged Swift
to show us the way, and one that escaped before we could name her, she
rose out of vision like a charred bonfire flake.
A marbled coronet like a silver birch, a
varied coronet her chalky wings as motionless as
lies.

The next day I had a hangover and couldn't check the trap, so only
Vince and Little Sam recollect the sacred contents of the scientist's
tabernacle. When I rose at noon the specimens had been released, mailed
to the wilderness. Only a vestige of dusty wings remained.

On the last day there was one. It took me over half an hour to identify the strangeness as a Dusky Brocade (Apamea remissa) . Bluish ghostly markings haunted my psyche and dragged me to a place of dread. It was as if someone was telling me that this perfect world was not going to last for
ever. As I uncupped my hands to let the creature go, I realised just how hard letting go could be.