A Soft Place to Land

I collapsed backward onto a mound of rolled flannel inside the tent. *Gasp!* A soft flap right above my head made my chin jerk up—just a dusty little moth drifting through the golden beam of the camp lantern. I stayed motionless, waiting. It fluttered twice, then settled gently right on the cool rim of an overturned enamel mug. *Hah—phew.* Nobody was tugging at anything. No snags, no stubborn cords. I sank deeper into the warm cotton folds, let my stiff fingers uncurl against my knees, and listened to the steady crickets humming outside through the screen.