It’s been a fraught week. Let us return to the peaceful shores of Silver Lake, created by Mount St. Helens a couple thousand years ago, and wander through the forest along its shores. It’s quiet aside from the birds and the breeze. Near sunset, not many people come by, so you can be alone for long stretches of time, even at the height of tourist season. The trees crowd out the sky, and shield you from civilization. There’s just nature, and a ghostly presence looms in the dusk.

And if you’re anything like me, you squee inwardly (so as not to scare your moth away) and try not to disturb the poor thing too badly as you tiptoe up for more photos.

And then, since you’ve already got two good shots, you might as well go for different angles, and hope your ghostly moth doesn’t flutter away.

And it turns out to give zero fucks about you getting in its face. It just goes on resting contentedly.

This is why I love moths, people. They’re not only beautiful, they’re more languid than butterflies, and thus easier to photograph.

Hopefully, one of you will be able to identify our phantom friend.