…a cloud of moths fluttered through the air in a busy swarm on a warm summer night. Among them was a moth named George.

“George!” cried out Phyllis, a fellow moth. “Why don’t you ever land anywhere?”

“Why, look at us all!” George replied. “We are flitting here and there, from pillar to post, from porch light to street lamp.”

“Of that we are all aware!” yelled Phyllis. “It is what we do!”

“Then why question it?” asked George.

“Because here we all are but I see you,” Phyllis crowed. “As I look I see what we are about.”

“What are we about, then?” asked George, curious.

“Nothing!” screamed Phyllis. “Absolutely nothing!”

“What ever do you mean?” George blurt out.

“George!” cried Phyllis. It dawned on me while watching you! You want to land! You want to alight! You want to be in a place!”

“Well,” answered George, “Isn’t that what we’re all doing?”

“No!” Phyllis shouted. “We are flitting. We are flirting. We are acting on the notion. But not you! You are looking and seeking. Why don’t you land somewhere?”

Flapping and flopping around a street lamp with his familiars, George now wondered what the answer was.

“I don’t know,” cried George. “I don’t see why I am not landing!”

“Goodness!” went Phyllis, giddily aloft. “Don’t bother about that! Just land for heaven’s sake!”

“But you asked!” George sang out.

“You wing-ed silly!” Phyllis returned. “I didn’t expect you to puzzle it out. I only wanted to know why you hadn’t yet done the thing!”

“Stop yelling!” yelled George. “Why don’t YOU land somewhere?”

“Because I don’t WANT to!” screeched Phyllis, who then shrieked in laughter.

Then George, who’d had quite enough of this, saw the truth of the thing. Before him was the street lamp, and the post on which it hung. With his mothy eyes he fastened on a spot. And having fastened on it, he found himself to be there. At which moment the lamp blinked out and the moths flew off.

For all the rest of that warm summer night George watched the stars.