This morning, I got to release some of the former caterpillars I picked off the brassicas.
One brown moth. One small white butterfly.
As I was re-netting the box, I spied a very newly-emerged moth. Its wings just tiny balls screwed up. I was intrigued, so I carefully picked it out and sat in a sheltered spot in the garden.
I sat there for over an hour, watching it fill its wings with blood until they were large enough to flex, and the small movements as it found its way around the new body it now had.
The last I saw of it was a beautiful moth, wings with patterns of tree bark, happily perched on the wooden slats of the shed in the sunshine.
