“In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
The moth in my garden, I wish it would alight upon me. Instead it gaily moves like a beautiful snowflake, past me to land on the brilliant morning glory, which flourishes without attendance.
The white moth reminds me of singular beauty, the diamonds in nature that catch your eye, and urge you to dwell.
A search to identify my lonely friend turned up a plethora of images. Are you a blue copper or a nymph? I think you might just be a cabbage white. I wonder if you have wandered down with the monarchs during their autumn journey, but on further investigation I see you are the enemy of vegetable gardeners. Perhaps you have come to see there is nothing in my yard, or maybe you have spent time with my dwarf peach. I don’t know, but you are lovely, and thank you for visiting.