~The Moth/A Sign~
I took a day off work as a "preserve my sanity" day. I lost my Mother July 11, 2004. Her birthday was September 7th so I had Sunday to reminisce her. I'd been angry at her for choosing to leave and, on top of that, not sending me a sign as she had promised, from the other side. The eighteenth of July I was sitting in my midnight room writing, using a notebook of lines jotted down in 2003 for inspiration, written ten months before her death. A tiny moth alit on the arm of my glasses, its wings aflutter, caressing my right temple.
A feeling inside bid me resist the urge to bat it away. After a few moments, it flew over and landed on the sheet I was writing from. It lingered over a line that read: "A wee bit wicked and its impact was felt all the more in its brevity... there are Earth Angels who would name it sin... but what do they know of sin." I reached for my camera and took a few pictures of the tiny creature so I wouldn't convince myself later that it was a dream or a fantasy the likes of which I am inclined to conjure up. After our private photo shoot, it returned to perch on my glasses once more. They came then, a tender-weep if you will, tears waiting four years to call my name. The moth flew up and through the window of this old farmhouse in Arvada. Signs are signs, aren't they? There was nothing earth shattering as I might have expected, no falling stars or lightning striking through my window exciting my flesh.
I don't travel to exotic faraway lands or jump out of airplanes, nor feel the need to. I raised five wonderful children. Natives of Colorado all, we live in Arvada, Wheat Ridge, and Golden and quite like it here. I'm a simply complex man who likes to write and sing, make music with his sons and watch his daughters dance. The visit of a tiny moth is an epiphany to me, what some others might simply squash and toss into the wastebasket.
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
© artwork & words conceived by & property of Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
I took a day off work as a "preserve my sanity" day. I lost my Mother July 11, 2004. Her birthday was September 7th so I had Sunday to reminisce her. I'd been angry at her for choosing to leave and, on top of that, not sending me a sign as she had promised, from the other side. The eighteenth of July I was sitting in my midnight room writing, using a notebook of lines jotted down in 2003 for inspiration, written ten months before her death. A tiny moth alit on the arm of my glasses, its wings aflutter, caressing my right temple.
A feeling inside bid me resist the urge to bat it away. After a few moments, it flew over and landed on the sheet I was writing from. It lingered over a line that read: "A wee bit wicked and its impact was felt all the more in its brevity... there are Earth Angels who would name it sin... but what do they know of sin." I reached for my camera and took a few pictures of the tiny creature so I wouldn't convince myself later that it was a dream or a fantasy the likes of which I am inclined to conjure up. After our private photo shoot, it returned to perch on my glasses once more. They came then, a tender-weep if you will, tears waiting four years to call my name. The moth flew up and through the window of this old farmhouse in Arvada. Signs are signs, aren't they? There was nothing earth shattering as I might have expected, no falling stars or lightning striking through my window exciting my flesh.
I don't travel to exotic faraway lands or jump out of airplanes, nor feel the need to. I raised five wonderful children. Natives of Colorado all, we live in Arvada, Wheat Ridge, and Golden and quite like it here. I'm a simply complex man who likes to write and sing, make music with his sons and watch his daughters dance. The visit of a tiny moth is an epiphany to me, what some others might simply squash and toss into the wastebasket.
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com
© artwork & words conceived by & property of Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
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