A Really Fat Bat

Batty - Part One

Oh the joys of country living. I have been noticing some excrement in a corner of the dining room - thought that the wind had blown mouse dirt in during the storms that we've have been having regularly of late. Then yesterday I thought I saw some insulation hanging down and made a note to plug up the hole where it was.

Well it was not insulation! I looked more closely this afternoon and it was a bat! The fattest bat I have ever seen - is it pregnant? Yuk! The last time we had one in the house we asked our neighbor to deal with it. It was flying around the living room, there was no way out and nothing to catch it with, so it met an untimely end. I called the neighbor - this time determined to deal with it myself and he suggested plugging the hole with steel wool. I am now armed with a large bag of the stuff and ready to roll once it leaves for it's evening feeding outdoors.

Haiku #1

a really fat bat

made a social call on me

he was not welcome

7.00 pm- Update: Using the flashlight I was able to see at least 2 bats up there - a colony? I am waiting for them to go out for dinner.

Batty - Part two

They finally left for their evening feeding frenzy at 9.00pm and out came the old witch with her broomstick (literally). I used the telescoping handle of a microfiber duster, stuck the pads of steel wool on the end and rammed them up into the crevice - it was very large and took the whole package. I feel sorry for them - if they didn't look so weird I think I could love them, "just not in the house, boys". My feminist side scored some points today.

Haiku #2

living by myself

I often crave company

but not that of bat

I usually write about nature but today will be different - I just want to celebrate good friends that care enough to come and visit. Even Snowy enjoyed her day! Hill House hasn't had a visit from youngsters in a long time and they were so cute and fun to have here.

Daily Haiku

there is nothing like

the sound of children's laughter

to gladden the heart

Septic Butterflies

With temperatures in the 90's every day we were well underway to aquiring the prairie browns and tans of grass color that signifies high summer and early fall. But a storm a few days ago dropped another 1/2 inch of rain conserving the green that has been such a pleasure this year, both to our eyes and to those who are putting up hay. In the photo the taller long weeds and grasses in the middle and left of the picture, are those that are fed by the drainage field from the septic tank. They remind me of one of the first poems that I wrote:

Saturday Moments

Blue skies
puffy white clouds
sunlight;
shadows created
by clouds across the sun.

I sit outdoors,
my oily body producing rivulets of sweat
which trickle down my throat,
collect in a stream,
and flow into the fold between my breasts.

Cool breezes flow through the pine trees
the sound reminding me of surf
rolling up to touch my feet,
and spending laughing days
running along the beach.

A shadow touches my eyelids.
A vulture caught in the breeze

passes overhead.
One wing dips, and momentarily
he changes course;
looks down at me.

Dead flesh he thinks?
I smile.
Not today
I call,
and he flies on.

White butterfies
flutter through the lush weeds
growing on the drainage field.
I chuckle, happy to consider
that my waste
creates a playground for butterflies.

A multitude of swallows circle angrily,
disturbed by some predator?
A moment later they are gone
calm's restored, and I hear water
rushing over rocks below the hill.

Blue skies
Puffy white clouds
Sunlight;
Shadows created
by clouds across the sun.

The Nest

This morning at my office I noticed a wrens nest that must have been blown out of the tree by the big storm. What a beautiful work of art. Their little beaks carefully wove grasses and twigs; lined it with soft hair - maybe sweepings from the house of the elderly lady who lives next door. It is strong enough to hold the sacred eggs and a few little pink and gray bodies with large beaks along with mum or dad.

Like the wrens, I have lost my nest. Not the physical surroundings but the spiritual entity that was lined with the soft hairs of love.

Daily Haiku

not a day goes by

without my remembering

all those years of you

After the storm

Daily Haiku

orange lily flames

reminder that life goes on

that storms always pass

The Bad Storm

It came marching up the river, and down Hanging Woman Creek simultaneously, and seemed to collide over our house. I could tell by the way it moved so fast that there were high winds with it. The rain started, ordinary at first and then torrential with a high wind. Then with pops and bangs the hail started; the noise mounted until it was almost deafening. In amongst this was lightning and thunder, but the thunder was almost drowned out by the noise of the ice golf balls being thrown at the house and windows. I prayed very hard that the huge picture window on the porch would be spared - it was specially shipped to us from Denver in 1967.

I went into the kitchen and discovered rain being blown in through a broken window and made a makeshift stop with a copy of the New York Times. There were shards of glass, some the size of a large pinhead all over the floor and dining room table. The glass is the old kind (at least 1932) that you can see wavy lines in. It is a shame to lose any of it. Once the storm calmed I made a makeshift block with some cardboard. The storm window that we leave on the middle

window was smashed and probably did a good job in protecting the actual house window.

I slept well last night being grateful that more damage did not occur.

Daily Haiku

hailstones hurled by wind

screamed like banshees at windows

my heart was stronger

Fall Thoughts

Even though it is barely the end of July, there seems to be signs of an early fall in the air. The swallows are flocking, the morning temperatures have fallen to 49' and 52' at night in the last 10 days. The leaves on the cottonwoods are beginning to rattle, and the chokecherries are beginning to ripen. But the cricket that sings when we move towards fall is not yet in evidence.

Daily Haiku

morning silently

waits for song of the cricket

heralding the fall