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One Thursday morning, while passing through the paper garden, as I usually do on my daily commute, I stopped to observe the birth of a moth. There was not much to praise about this particular moth, unremarkable in size or beauty. What caught my eye was the row of bells that it had begun to hang from a branch that ran parallel to my bedroom window. 
“What are you doing?” I asked the moth.
“I’m here to help you dream,” it said. 
Apparently the arrangement of the bells was such that when the evening wind made its rounds, the bells would chime the exact frequency required to lull a human into the deepest dream state possible.  
While the moth was explaining this and pointing out each of the little silver bells, I noticed that the moon had vanished—in its place was a blinking eye. 
“Have you put the moon on my bed again?” I interrupted quietly, not upset at this turn of events, but not exactly pleased either. 
The moth blushed and admitted sheepishly that there had been a minor oversight, a once in a lifetime mistake, and rest assured, after the sun came down the next morning, the moon would be hanging from its proper place again. 
"Moon Moth Bed" written for The Inflection Point