In Search of Light

Dimmed light reflected off of our moist knees, as we crouched around the fireplace, waiting for her performance. The air was filled with the odor of baked pizza crust and sweaty palms cooling by the touch of moist bottles. There were too many people to fit on the sofas and wooden chairs, so most rested on the ground, looking upward to the guitar being tuned. The low E was flat, but the D was right on so she started there and continued down, pressing each fret in deep concentration. I squeezed onto a couch, sipping my beer, and watching her turn the tuning knobs until she played a C chord, which rang in perfect intonation.

As she cleared her throat I noticed a small winged creature flutter over the resting heads lounging on the couch next to mine. It sprang into the light revealing its grey dull wings, which flapped with no direction. It floated in the still air between the gaping eyes and the wooden guitar, ringing still with its tuned strings. I listened to her introduction, but had my eyes set on this lonely moth, floating urgently in the shadows of dimmed lamps in search of light.

As her throat was cleared, the moth made a sudden turn in her direction and danced in a zig-zag toward her polished guitar. As her first chord rang and her soft harmonious voice chimed, the moth placed its tiny legs on the top of her guitar and slowed its wings to a halt. It rested as she sang in lullabies, but she did not allow the moth to sleep. It was caught in a dream state, with memories of morning and the better times where the sun supplied light, and there was no confused flutter in a race for a lamp or a streetlight. It breathed while listening to her small fingers pluck each melodic string and the tempo of a Casio beating away at her feet. It was then, it realized that it had found light, and it was a modest light, like a night-light in a toddler’s bedroom. It was a light that allowed the moth to rest peacefully without being burnt or swatted away.

I kept my eyes steady on the moth as song after song was gracefully sung. I watched the moth rest and reflect on its slow life, grateful for the warmth it had found. I watched the moth, as the last chord in the last song was strum and the slow ripple of applause seeped into the air, dimming the radiance of her light into a calm and steady silence. It was then, I watched the moth lift its nose, and flap its wings to simply fly away, in search of light.