It was a three-man team,

following me

as I meandered

along the trail

for the first time

since bears and floods

held sway.

One moth was white,

another orange,

and the third yellow.

They flitted alongside

above the brambles

as I held my body tightly

watching and listening

for signs of danger.

They seemed to hover close

as if they were wondering,

“is she alright?”

After much shuffling

through mud and sadness,

I asked myself “am I alright?”

I made it back to my car

refreshed but with no answers

and the moths returned

to the woods.

Watchers of the aimless.