Sailaway

The Colombian Silk moth. . 

Lives as an adult for 2 short weeks. . It has no mouth parts and does not eat. It mates and dies. 

The time they spend in the cocoon is the world greatest mystery. 

Well, I’m sure someone has figured it out. But not me. 

I was given four cocoons, told that one of their friends had emerged a day before. 

Perfect. Any day now. 

That was right before Christmas. 

I gave up in the middle of January, after taking them with me on a trip, and watching them every night. 

Keeping them in a big glass dome. 

I knew they had not survived the climate change, the drive, the whatever. . . They were very over due. 

Then one day I woke up, in my sleepy stupor sat at my desk and there is was. The first one had hatched, and was hanging on the stick provided in all it’s glory. 

I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

(I took pictures of it in this moment but later realized that behind the moth’s dome was a mirror, and I had taken picture after picture of me with no cloths on in the background)

So I moved those pictures into my privet collection.

But examining the remaining cocoons, I was shocked to discover that I had NO IDEA what Cocoon the moth came from. 

All of them were in talked, all of them were tight, and untouched.

How could this be?

So many questions?

I began to think that the moth flew in threw the window and under the glass dome on it’s own. . . . There was no other explanation.  

Two days and the second one came I missed it again, I was at work this time. 

I felt bad because letting the moth free into the cold Utah air they would die, and keeping them they would die.

So I killed them with so much love, and a syringe. 

 The next week another one came, it was before bed, and I heard little noises, I was confused as to where they came from, and watched the glass for a solid five minuets. Nothing. I seconded guessed myself and in the morning another one was there.  A wild one who wanted to break free. I let him fly for a while (I gave them all the chance to fly, after all that work to become a moth I wanted them to feel the power of flight)

But his wild spirit was doing to destroy his wings. 

So, he too is gone. 

I’m holding on to my last one, I can’t miss it, I want so bad to see it. 

I’ve been taking it to work, and took it on a weekend get-a-way to Midway. 

Two weeks, the gift of flight, life as an adult, for two weeks.

I was listening the radio the other day. . 90.9. . And Bad Brad Wheeler was doing a guilty pleasure segment. 

With a very unenthusiastic “Let’s see how long you stay tuned in”

Then this Dad from American Fork got on the line. With his raspy old man voice and said “I don’t know if you guys play this kind of music but I really like Orinoco Flow by Enya”

And they dove right into the song. 

First of all- that song is amazing, I had no idea. As I maneuvered Rav through the Downtown the music’s wave lengths reached as high as the buildings around me. 

And I love that this old Dad guy was soaring as high as I was at that moment listening to his favorite song as Bad Brad Wheeler rolled his eyes. 

And while that story is seemingly unrelated to moths, it seems like it is one in the same. 

So roll down the window in this freakishly warm January weather and blast THIS TUNE and think about two sort weeks of flight. 

And stay tuned to hear if the fourth moth makes an appearance.