The moth was drawn to the light, but it didn’t know it was on the other side of the window and wouldn’t be able to reach the light. That’s okay. All that is on the other side is a lonely woman doing the dishes with her TV on. She’s not paying attention to the moving images; she just has it on for the sounds as a comfort. She listens to the sounds in replace of the ones she’s waiting for. They don’t tell the exact same story as the ones she’s waiting for, but close. The clock moves from one minute to the next and the lonely woman thinks of a simple memory from ten years prior. Six-year-old Kaite was building a snowman and fell in the snow. She was not there to pull her daughter out, but Kaite’s brother was. Clay is her favorite.
Her baby Clay just moved out, so waiting for Kaite makes her wonder what it would be like in an empty house. The loneliness is already setting in like the first falling snowflakes during a flurry. Just a thin layer, just a preview. But for this moment, the moth lands on the window, the TV keeps reporting stories, and the lonely woman dries the dishes.