"I only ask to be free, the butterflies are free"

charles dickens

the expanding moth cloud so resembles a flower, each flying fragment of wing, antennae or spiky black leg whirling in formation to define each delicate petal forming a flower that blossoms and dies scattering moth dust to settle gently on the ground like leaves falling from a tree in autumn orange colours intense, intense like fire burning, burning moths, moths on fire, fire blazing, blazing like thoughts in the mind of a caterpillar. maybe caterpillars are the most intelligent of all.

and these are my thoughts, scattered on the screen like so much powdered moth.

love Papillon