At lunchtime in Felt Presence, the moth brought the pumpkin a housewarming present: a curtain the size of a postage stamp.

“For privacy.”

“There isn’t a window.”

“I measured the view.”

They propped a matchstick frame at the edge of the pumpkin’s upstairs and hung the curtain.

The pumpkin peered around it. The ribbon basket was still there.

“Excellent.”

A stripe of lamplight shone on his cheek. He drew the curtain across it.

“Afternoon sun,” he explained.

The moth glanced at the ceiling, then quietly turned the lamp away.

“Very strong at this altitude.”