To Be a Moth in the Forest

Today I spent time in a pine-balsam forest. 

The sun's bright warm rays reached right down through a hole in the canopy that was opened when a giant from yesteryear fell a few months back. I'd found a good spot here to take in the view. With my feet firmly planted on soft cushy needles, my gaze lifted skywards in wonder. 

I see the spiry tops of a million cathedrals. Every nook and cranny of trunk and bough of each holy place teeming with happy moss and lichen civilizations. Civilizations within which mites move about and moths emerge as friendly forest fairies. 

Life as a moth among arboreal mossy abodes in the great forest sanctuary would seem delightfully sweet.  To rest by day tucked between secret mossy tufts and to dance on the wing among fragrant balsam branches in the moon's soft glow at night.

But for the moth who dwells in the pine-balsam forest, nature's balance will surely be struck by threats of the appetites of creeper below, of nuthatch above, and of brown bats on the wing when the day has run its course and the sun has set. 

To be moth, to be human, is not without risk. Though for moth risk is greater, think of the gift. To be a moth among moss-covered balsams but for a moment would be a gift for eternity.