Attacus

With wings matching an autumn mood of dead leaves, warmth and longing, he flies through radiant green leaves. He is Attacus Atlas, The Atlas moth, and an unlikely protagonist of a story.

You might wonder why? Well, Attacus large and colourful as he is, will live a short life of only a few days. What could Attacus do that will be so worth writing about? Sometimes, just the act of life and the courage to fly is of a such mesmerising beauty that we long to immortalise it. Weather by preserving these moths in large frames giving them still life, but life nonetheless, forever, or by taking pictures and scribbling words. We, humans, are after all collectors. And so let’s collect and bear witness to the facts of Attacus’ short, but wonderful life.

The Borneo rainforest, sadly the only place Attacus will know, is the world’s oldest rainforest. Existing proudly for millions of years. You might not know, but rainforests are loud. Not deafening, but comforting, a constant camaraderie between all plains of life. Trees falling, moving, growing as if speaking to each other. Birds singing to their hearts contents, dancing in their colours. And this, Attacus will soon realise, is a blessing in disguise, protecting him from any predatory eyes. His wings will marvel in the breeze and nobody will hear. He will be free, but every freedom has a price.

Attacus was of dusty green pallet in a life before he found his wings. The last memory he has is of the two trees looming before him. He had chosen cinnamon over citrus to interwove a long papery cocoon of silk. The cocoon brown and smooth like milk coffee on cold Autum days.

Cinnamon was the first thing he smelled once out of his cocoon. A smell so comforting and sweet that had engulfed his dreams for the four weeks it gave him shelter.

He came out of his cocoon unsteady, on a late November day, as dusk was breaking over tree tops. And on that first day of his new life, he saw things differently. His lust for food replaced for lust for love and reluctantly, Attacus had to adapt to see the world in a very different light.

Attacus, the Atlas Moth, was named after a God. A Titan condemned to hold up the celestial heavens for eternal life. The Moth has been named as such due to it’s size. And maybe it’s not just the size of it’s orange wings, but also the weight of the burden on it’s shoulders, a life so short and fleeting.

Not only Attacus, our unfortunate protagonist, but all Atlas Moth, have been designed in such that they don’t have a mouth. A flaw in evolution, or maybe not. Maybe just the way it was supposed to be, as life is perfect in it’s way. Once Attacus will spread his wings, he’ll fly towards Death. The once sweet nectar of oranges is a memory of a life long past, but the freedom of the wings is immense.

As Attacus lives in a kind of purgatory, living but not being able to sustain himself, feelings it’s near death, the plains that he roams are as such. The heat and humidity of Borneo below, overlooked by Mount Kinabalu, made of bare stone, black and cold as winter. Borneo doesn’t see snow, and yet the peak is often covered by it. And then what is Attacus if not a personification of Autumn that never comes to Borneo.

Tonight Attacus will fly, desperately trying to find the one, hidden in between the leaves. He will not fly long, conserving his energy so that he can live another day looking for her. But he will fly freely hidden in the warm embrace of night, the moonlight shining on his majestic wings like death omens.

Attacus could easily detect her from kilometres away, sweet pheromones of love, and he will make his way weakly, but determined to fulfil his hearts desire. And in the last moments before death, Attacus will know love, and his life so short will be sweet in his beloved’s embrace.

And what are we, if not Atlas Moths, flying through our short lives in search of a love so deep to make it all worth while?