‘A moth-craft, ether, a plant that tells your fortune’
Those crumpling brown wings, which I once thought ugly and decrepit, let the sun through so beautifully, that I had no choice but to embrace its warmth. I stood beneath that large moth as it flew overhead, the rays overlaying another shade of brown to my skin. At last I bathed in it, and let it fasten itself to me. Then, as I strolled through the rest of the garden, the clouds drew themselves together. They were following the trail of liquid behind me – so I called to them:
‘Come, children, follow behind me.’
They were often jealous and angry, shifting their moods more frequently than the seasons themselves
(but I suppose in that sense they do take after their mother).
Cumulo chased ahead, riding the mists of the azure. The concave sky gave into his weight, as he dipped into the atmosphere to walk alongside me and drink from the pools of hawkmoth below my feet that carried me forward. In rage I blew him back up into the air, but in rage he blew it back out at me, flooding my pools with rain. Drop by drop, I began to fall through the slow-forming marsh, encased in his horrid opaque secretion, like that hideous spineless creature I expelled those years ago.