I saw a moth the other day. I suppose, for a moth, it was rather average in appearance. However, moths are not average creatures. Moths tend to be well-camouflaged, yet when they are out-of-place, when they are lost, when they are without their comfort of bark and dark surfaces, moths are most noticed, and furthermore, most beautiful.
At the time, I was of the opinion that this moth was exceptionally beautiful, for it was also exceptionally out of place. I saw it in a corridor, in an entryway, in an in-between point between the dangers of the outside and the confinements of the inside. In a way, a world between woods of sorts. The moth, in what it perceived to not be a solid state of location, was absolutely alien to its environment.
As I encountered it, I said to the moth, "You are a rather beautiful moth."
The moth replied to me, "I am just the same as all of the other moths, I suppose."
"But," I said, "I do not see the other moths here. Why, may I ask, are you here?"
"Isn't it obvious?" The moth flitted from one side of the hall to the other. "I am a moth, I have wings, the door was open. And so, I flew into this hall."
"Are you much happier here than you were outside?" I asked the moth.
The moth responded, "There were many predators outside. I was very afraid."
"Is that what you want from life, moth? Freedom from predators?"
"I suppose that would be nice, yes."
I nodded, and bid the moth farewell, only to return after a period of time. For me, a rather brief period; for the moth, quite a long disparity of time.
The moth, when I returned, was resting on the wall, wings weathered and permitting of little flight.
"Hello, moth," I said.
The moth had little capacity to respond.
"Are you happy here, moth?"
"There are predators here as well," replied the moth.
"Of course there are. There are predators everywhere."
The moth let out a sigh that was quite significant for a moth. "I am not happy."
"Would you like to go outside, moth?"
"I want to escape," said the moth.
"Do you feel as if you will find escape outside?"
"Perhaps," was the moth's reply.
And so I carried the moth outside, setting it on a bench. And in front of my eyes, the moth was eaten by a bird. A very pretty bird, but nevertheless, a bird.