I've always considered myself to be in sync with nature despite the fact that I live in a big city.
And then once in a while something happens to show me that nature from afar and nature up close are two entirely different things.
An example of this is what happened last weekend when I was with my parents in their country house.
It's a lovely little place where I have a tiny guest house all to myself.
I have gotten used to the facts that insects always manage to get inside the room when I am away and it usually doesn't bother me at all.
I mean, through the years I have shared that house with mosquitoes, flies, different bugs and the occasional spider (if it is not too big).
I was, however, not prepared to share the house with that giant moth (and by giant I mean completely normally sized) that suddenly started fluttering around when I made my bed the first night.
Firstly, it made this really loud whrrrr-ing sound that was really distracting, and secondly the room is really small so it was everywhere.
Just the thought of it somehow hitting me made me immediately jump across the room and turn out the light - and when I got the idea to try and let the moth out I remembered the keys to the door was at the other end of the room.
So I had to walk across the room in darkness... with a killer moth swarming around!
Well, at last I got the door open and when I turned on the light again it was gone...or so I thought...
Imagine my surprise when suddenly the next evening the complete same scenario played out!
The only difference was this night it was raining heavily, so the chances of getting it out was zero.
I really tried to reconcile myself to sharing the room, recalling that I had done so the night before without even noticing, but when I turned on the light it started flying around like crazy again.
So I did the only thing I could do in the situation: turned out the light and disappeared completely beneath my covers - all in one sweeping motion.
There I lay, frantically listening for the moth - and letting out an undignified shriek when I felt it hit the outside of my duvet-fort.
I think it took me about 10 minutes before I dared to poke my head out (and it was 10 very hot minutes).
And I spent further 30 minutes listening for any indication of a flying moth - alternating between telling myself how stupid I was and flinching back beneath the covers every time I heard a sound (which is not uncommon on a rainy night spent in a house with paper thin walls).
And that is what happens when nature decides to show me just how much of a city girl I am.
This time I let the moth keep the house. I hope it will live happily ever after.