An Omnivorous Looper (sabulodes aegrotata). Photo by Rephah Berg.
The other day while watering our new back lawn, I saw a moth spiral upward from the grass, it’s wings fluttering silently in the mid-day sun.
It ascended near my face, so close and at a pace slow enough that I was able to study it’s body, from its delicate wings to its six legs retracted tightly against its soft, furry and plump belly, creating the aerodynamic form for flight.
I’ve found insects and other miniature creatures to be of endless fascination; their small, tiny bodies are just as—if not at times, more—complex than their gigantic counterparts in the animal kingdom. But are their lives? Not by the looks of this winged one.
So, I watched and sighed as it rose upward in its calculated ascent, weightless and free to wing the world. “How cool it would be to be a moth,” I thought to myself. “Just flying all day without a care.”
Then, as it reached an altitude of about 20 feet above my head, a small bird swooped swiftly towards it and snatched it from the blue sky with its beak. It landed on a nearby telephone wire and cocked its head back to swallow it whole in one second, then flew away as quickly as it came.
I had to blink in wonder as it took me a couple of seconds to realize and absorb what had occurred. Something I’d spent only moments before fixated upon in fascination was now completely gone. All that crap about beautiful aerodynamic form and wondrous complexity? Heh…nothing more than a meal to be swallowed, digested and crapped out.
It also made me realize that our own human lives are exactly the same—no matter how beautiful, complex or significant we appear to be, we’re all just waiting to be snatched by the beak of fate.
