On Saturday mornings I mop that floor and stairs downstairs. The mornings are getting darker and at 4.30 am there is still no daylight. I put on the light in the hall so that it would shine on the wooden steps that lead up to our front door. A too-bright light shines from the bulb and as I opened the door a moth flew in. It fluttered and flustered, flapping its wing dust in my face. I cooed at it, cajoled and tried to coax it back outside but every time I managed it it would fly back in, fatally attracted, as it was to the light. I felt its panic and fear. Exhausted it sank to the floor. How grey and depleted it looked then. I cradled it carefully in my hand and turning off the light threw it out of the door. I hope it survived.
