When Moths Die

Every Tuesday morning I go skating. This morning was no different than any other. I got up early. Felt bitter. Drank my coffee and drove in the dark and rain to the rink. We started our practice and it felt okay. I did some laps when suddenly I noticed a moth on the ice. It was fluttering around trying to gain enough traction to fly away but it couldn’t.I intended to pick him up on the next lap and put him out of harm’s way but by the time I came around again someone else had found him and was busy stomping on his fluttering wings. It was a sixteen year old kid. My friend Gayle and I yelled at him at the same time to stop and she skated over and picked the moth up and brought him to the side of the rink and put him in a safe place…or as safe as he could be in that situation.

Gayle looked at me and said you know it’s funny, when Michael (her son) was little, we used to go to Granville Island all the time and we would sit outside where all the pidgeons were. All the kids would chase the pidgeons she said, but I never let him do that.

That really made me like Gayle.


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