Moths and frangipani

Moths and Frangipani 20th Oct 7pm 2008
Tonight I stepped out from my study space beneath the Social Sciences building and the sky was grey, cumulus grey and cloudy, sure, but the wind was still.
I walked past a lamp that a willy-wagtail was stalking and ensnaring the gnats and bugs that flew into its light.
The white wings of the unknowns, were drawn illuminated for a moment, in the briefest moment of time they cartwheeled like Japanese fan dancers on a stage, straight into the samurai like beak of the black and white assassins that flew waiting half hidden in the shadows...
Each insect, it seemed, was driven by an unknown desire to feed the feathered frenzy that similarly cartwheeled mimicking their momentary-lived movements - and I walked - and the lamps of Pan's sanctuary and his vestiges of Arcadia seemed caught in the twilight the liminal space and breath or sigh between day and darkness.
In this moment the scent of the native frangipani drew me near.
In this moment I became the moth or recognised the moth within my name (timothy) and I found myself free-falling winged and winging on the periphery of that scent that did all it could to draw me near.
One tends to be lost to such moments, for surely these are moments of the sensual - moments when an intuition of the magical seems pregnant with possibilities to breathe, to remember to breathe, to let go, to fall by the wayside and to lose ones-self to the moment.