In the midst of frantically attending to my Spring vegetable garden and yard which seem to have exploded with unruly vegetation in the last few days, I took a break to check out how the phoebes nesting in my woodshed were doing. While there I noticed a glass jar with a Cecropia moth cocoon in it that I had carefully placed on a shelf in the shed in the fall…and forgotten while it overwintered.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw something move. It was the moth in the jar, just moments ago eclosed (hatched) from it’s cocoon. I let it out and it clung to my finger. As I watched, it trembled, pumped its wings and readied himself ( I knew it was a he because of the size of his antennae) for flight. Then in a split second off he went. I gasped. Such a dramatic departure. (I’d been known to do the same in my youth.)

And there was the phoebe on the phone wire ready to devour my (forgive my possessiveness) moth. Luckily he evaded her (in feinting moves worthy of a pro soccer player) and flew away to find his perfect mate.

So blessed to be in the right place at the right time. (How often does that happen?) Not to mention if it had been a moment later that moth would have died in the jar never knowing the pleasures of finding a mate and fulfilling his purpose in life, and I responsible for his untimely demise.