ten
The little moth approached with understandable caution, wary of being squished. A few centimeters closer. A pause. A few centimeters closer. A pause. Its antennae tapped the cotton sheets frantically, taking in every minute vibration, every slight breath of air. The woman in the bed did not wake, did not roll over or fling out an arm to crush the insect.
It took to the air again, fluttering the short span between the sheets and the woman’s hair. This was the precarious part, touching without inviting a sneeze or a scratch. It held still, wings quivering, until the woman shifted and frowned in her sleep, then it flitted down once more, from brow to mouth. The moment its tiny, hooked feet touched the woman’s lips, it vanished.
*
The dream seemed peculiarly dull, at first. Jadwiga tou
