Fascination

When I was young, nothing fascinated me more than the sparkles of dust that swirled beneath the place where my air conditioning vent and window intersected. At the time, the realization that "eww, that's what I'm really breathing?" didn't hit. I was mesmerized by the path the dust took. It would fall from the ceiling, slowly tracing its way down the sunlight staircase until it neared the edge of the sunlight, but it never fell further. Here the vent would take hold. The air would grab the dust and throw it back toward the ceiling and the cycle began again.

Once, a big dark moth found its way into my room. It was a hot summer night, but I turned off my fan so it would land. The lamp next to my bed was on and it created a new intersection for the dust and light. For a moment, everything was still and I heard nothing but the high-pitched hum of my lamp. Holding my breath, I heard the soft thuwmp-thuwmp of the moth's wings as it wove its way toward the siren song of the light. As it passed under the lamplight, I saw a fresh shimmer of dust from its wings rise into the air and mix with the swirling particles of light that sparkled like stars against my ceiling.