Grandson is home from the hospital, playing happily with his toys.

Today my son introduces a friend of his, Justin, and me, to each other as he loves both our blogs.

I come to Justin’s blog, “are you electronic,” and yes, I am intrigued.

One post is on Virginia Woolf’s essay, “The Death of the Moth”.  Perhaps this week because death has felt uncomfortably, hoveringly close, I relate even more closely to two of the paragraphs in her essay.  She is watching a moth at her window.

What he could do he did. Watching him, it seemed as if a fibre, very thin but pure, of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his frail and diminutive body. As often as he crossed the pane, I could fancy that a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life.

Yet, because he was so small, and so simple a form of the energy that was rolling in at the open window and driving its way through so many narrow and intricate corridors in my own brain and in those of other human beings, there was something marvellous as well as pathetic about him. It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing and zig-zagging to show us the true nature of life.

She’s already shared with us what’s outside the window. She begins here.

Such vigour came rolling in from the fields and the down beyond that it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book. The rooks too were keeping one of their annual festivities; soaring round the tree tops until it looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air; which, after a few moments sank slowly down upon the trees until every twig seemed to have a knot at the end of it. Then, suddenly, the net would be thrown into the air again in a wider circle this time, with the utmost clamour and vociferation, as though to be thrown into the air and settle slowly down upon the tree tops were a tremendously exciting experience.

And with that, we engage in this dance of transition, of soaring and settling, of weaving in and out of a net knotted with individuals connected in the whole, Indra’s Net.

Justin’s blog: https://www.areyouelectronic.com