One of the things I miss most about living in the country is the night. I’m still getting used to the rhythm of night time in the city. I often miss the black, black dark. I have so many memories of being out in the night around my childhood home. There’s nothing like a deep, noiseful night in the country for getting you in a spiritual frame of mind.
And of course, there are the bats. As a kid, I was never afraid of them, but they always took me by surprise, dropping out of the high black sky and making you wonder if your eyes are playing tricks.
The Bat – Theodore Roethke
By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
He likes the attic of an ageing house.
His fingers make a hat about his head.
His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead.
He loops in crazy figures half the night
Among the trees that face the corner light.
(For the rest go to Poetry Foundation).