"Out of the sprawling green bush rose a flickering, sudden cloud of delicate white moths. They were an astonishing sight, feathery, exquisite. Endlessly flowing upward, hundred upon hundred, they fluttered like a gentle snow-flurry round Stephen's head and shoulders....They were like infinitely small birds fashioned of snowflakes; silent, ghostly each tiny wing a filigree of five delicate feathers, all white.
Plume moths...There's an old saying, that they carry memories away."Susan Cooper, Silver on the Tree