A LUNAR MOTH landed on a half-eaten apple. The once taut red skin puckered around a gigantic bite mark, a wrinkled yellow smile to match the leaves overhead. Etched in silvery blue from the gibbous moon, the autumnal wings of the branches whispered their dying secrets down to the moth.
She stretched her own wings; she was not much interested in secrets tonight. She was hoping for a decent breakfast around this rotten apple. Old enough to have a tasty treat, but new enough that the larger scavengers — raccoons or rabbits — had not sniffed out its delicious decaying aroma.
The leaves rustled madly, as a mysterious weight darted through the branches, crinkling silver shadows over it’s compact, quick body.
The moth flexed her wings; she would worry about that after she ate.
Written: 10 March 2016
Inspired: Over the Garden Wall