like some watcher of the skies

Jim was paddling by the other day, because his Seagull was out of fuel. I lent him a cup of petrol, and off he chugged, delivering firewood to someone up Avoncliffe way.

He called by later with my own order for firewood, a nice pile of ash for a tenner. 

Then we had a glass of Jaegermeister, because it was that time of day. As we sat putting the world to rights, a moth wandered over from the back of his beret to the front edge, peered out, then ambled off around the perimeter, for all the world like the Little Prince on his asteroid, or Major Clanger on his; if, of course, the Little Prince and Major Clanger were moths, which they aren't. 

Then off they puttered, Jim and the moth, leaving a slight sheen of Seagull in their wake.