Watching a Day Moth Die
On a September morning Woolf watches a small day-flying moth at her windowpane, flitting from corner to corner while rooks and ploughmen work in the fields outside. She sees it falter, fail to right itself, and briefly resume its struggle against a vast, indifferent power before lying still. She concludes that death is stronger than she is, yet the moth's tiny, useless resistance was 'strange' and admirable, pure life shown most clearly at the moment it was being extinguished.
