Another word this week that keeps repeating in my ear, nature. I sat outside just now and watched a bat at dinner. Amazing little creatures as they flutter through the evening sky, dipping, angling, crossing back and forth until they’ve had their fill of insects and find a quiet place to settle for the night. Once, for several days, in deep and darkened folds of the patio umbrella. Soon learning though, the rude awakening as I slowly unfurled him to the morning sun.
But memories tonight, in watching him. A group of archers aiming rubber blunted arrows, with noisy, high-fletched feathers to slow them down, into a dozen, maybe twenty swooping bats in a late summer sky in Michigan who laughed, I’m sure, although annoyed, at slow and silly men and women standing in a field below. We posed no threat nor danger to them, and we knew it, and they avoided every arrow loosed no matter with what skill. Amazing sonared creatures, bats.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology