When there was a moth the size of a small bird in my study tonight, and after I shrieked like this: "aaahaaahaaah!," he came in, steadily drew his hand close and then closer to where the moth had alighted, then picked it up and put it outside. Where it belongs.
I praise the name of the man, the historian, the moth-catcher, the allayer of fears.
In other news about scary things: I saw that trailer for the super scary scary movie The Strangers again on television (in my house! the nerve of the scary movie purveyors). I muted it and closed my eyes. It didn't look quite as scary, but then, I haven't yet gone to the kitchen to get ibuprofen in the dark, or walked past the windows.
Not scary: I worked for a long time on my new poem today. I decided I wasn't going to rush it into being. I started with some lines, but then decided that rather than write the poem to go with the lines, I was going to try to write around all the elements I thought might have a place in the poem, to see what connections there were that I might not be seeing right off the bat. It was great, because I did find a connection that I didn't have in mind when I started. It was a sustained act of invention, and I highly recommend it.