A Slender Night Visitor

I set the dry tip of my staff upon the wooden sill and listened. Outside the glass, the dark garden was quiet, save for the faint rattle of dry ivy leaves against the pane. A lone moth fluttered against the cool surface, its wings dusting pale gray powder across the glass. I did not move. Slowly, it rested right where the shadow of my hat fell. We shared that small pool of evening quiet for several slow minutes, watching the distant streetlamps flicker through the branches, until it fluttered off into the dark.