Winged Book Passage

The chorus of bird song diminishes now, and Hal Borland says the bird parents are too busy to spend time singing. But my song sparrow still begins at dawn outside my bedroom window and is caroling away after sunset. And the quail keep up an endless bobwhite at the yard's edge.
A special sound now comes at night when the lights are on. I never draw the curtains, since the moonlight view of Mill pond through the picture windows is like poetry remembered. A soft tapping begins first on the glass and suddenly it looks like a tapestry with the embroidery of moth-wings pressed on the darkling panes. I stop everything to watch, for this is a rare sight. I would not try to guess how many shapes and sizes of maoths are there from big bumbling ones to tiny heart-shaped creatures.

- Gladys Taber, My Own Cape Cod