A moth which I've always thought particularly elegant in an understated way arrived this morning for the first time this year: the Powdered Quaker. It puts me in mind of the sort of clothes worn by my great auntie Katie whose sweetheart died in the 'flu after the First World War. She subsequently devoted herself to others in general rather than one in particular, like Dorothea in Middlemarch whose closing lines I quote at every available opportunity:
Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive, for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts, and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life and rest in unvisited tombs.But this is not a pulpit so back to moths: my other source of joy is this 21mm chrysalis which narrowly escaped my spade in the veg plot yesterday and is now in a box in the kitchen waiting to turn into a moth. Assuming all goes well, I'll introduce you to its occupant later in the season - isn't it marvellous how you can see the wings etc through the case. In many instances, gentle colouring appears as the moment of hatching draws near.
For the rest, the trap attracted a record three Brindled Beauties last night, along with 19 Common Quakers, 11 Hebrew Characters, one Small Quaker, one Clouded Drab, an Ophion wasp and a small fly with a fat orange tummy.