Nightfall at the Glass

I leaned my shoulder against the cool glass of the patio door as twilight faded out in the yard. Something tapped lightly from the outside pane—a nocturnal moth, drawn by the indoor ambient light, fluttering its wings against the surface. I held dead still, tracking its erratic wingbeats through the reflection. To keep my stance steady on the slick metal runner, I wedged a dried fallen houseplant leaf under my right heel like a non-slip pad. Ground held firm. The moth circled twice, then drifted off into the dark lawn. Clear perimeter for the night.