battery bats (22/April/18)

my garden’s a battery… full of bats… wheeling and dealing the final blows to moths and craneflies, midges and storm flies… ah yes, storm flies, so-called as they herald and are omens of impending storm, or rain at least… should be called muggy flies for they only ever seem to emerge when the air grows decidedly uncomfortably sticky muggy… how do bats manage not to crash into branches and walls and all the other static and solid obstacles peppering their hunting grounds, like my garden… if I was a bat I’d be a hopeless one, inevitably colliding with trees and comically sliding down the bark wearing a halo of even tinier bats spinning around my dazed batty head… not to mention I don’t particular like moths, to eat that is, I’ve nothing on a personal level against them, after all they have some of the bets names in the natural world but as appetisers not so much…… I once found, or rescued, a long-eared bat from a demolished outbuilding, it had been sleeping, roosting, hibernating more like behind a rotten wooden baton, snug as a bug in a rug… or a bat in a baton… It was still early March, not exactly normal flying time for bats unless it’s a particularly early spring which that years wasn’t… still at least half-asleep, the bat that is, I found a shoe box, filled it with newspaper and shreddings, placed it in another shed nearby with plenty of exit points high up safe from any possibly predators… for two weeks I kept an eye on it and all the while it seemed to sleep, or hibernate, or could well have been half-dead for all I knew, being it was barely breathing… although that’s normal for hibernation… after two weeks I was almost giving up when it finally shivered itself awake and eventually, phew, took flight on a night that was just about bat-flying temperatures… and it was gone to bat another day, and night, and hopefully many more after that.

© 2018 robert greig

wind of change (17/April/18)

I found a five pence piece on the ground… again, as regular readers of my blog will know I seem to regularly find lost and discarded money, never much though, only ever change, loose change, either singly or several like the other week finding 25 pence in five shiny, silver five pence pieces…… later I found 41 pence, a mix of coins, which meant today I had stumbled on a total of 46 pence!… if this carried on I could be in the hundreds of pounds by the end of day, or tens at least… it didn’t, I wasn’t… I know with the smaller denomination coins some people actually have a habit of deliberately throwing them away… imagine, throwing money away, although some people do it every day eating at one of the various generic McTuckyWay fast food (and I generously use the term loosely by calling it ‘food’) outlets… 41 pence stands at my biggest haul in a single find, apart from when I’ve found one pound coins, often left in shopping trolleys where they’d been used as deposit… well, it’s not as if I can return them to their owners who would’ve been long gone by then…… I’ve actually watched some walk past this discarded money, why?… I never do… either they are so unobservant they don’t see it (quite likely as a LOT seem to be), or think it’s like food dropped on the ground and they might catch something (“you don’t know where it’s been!”), or perhaps they’re embarrassed to be seen scrabbling on the ground to pick up what may be as little as a penny (I am not so proud)… or they think it’s some kind of elaborate prank like maybe it’s glued to the ground and people are watching sniggering at whoever tries to prise it off the ground…… which I have to say has never happened to me and is largely a myth…. talking of change…
… the wind is back with a vengeance, being uproariously and unapologetically ferocious all night, I’ve barely slept with the clattering and banging and worrying  when the next crash form the darkness is coming from as yet something else gets trashed…. discovered this morning the gusts had been strong enough to rip a cast iron sundial off its equally cast iron podium and throw is six feet…… just when you thought it was safe to go forth into spring along comes winds that autumn would be proud of…. but this is spring, don’t you remember, it’s as variable as every other season, more so now with climate change so get used to it… anyway, I’m 46 pence up on yesterday, yay me…..

© 2018 robert greig

big wheel keeps on turning (5/April/18)

… yesterday…

the big wheel turned against and despite of the weather-worn weather weathering  and rendering the mountains into cloud a sky so heavy as to scrape my scalp against… it stops, one person boards, around it goes again, one car with one person soon be sitting on top of the world, or at least obscured by clouds against the grey refrain of the day… rain falls with a quiet persistence, sometimes more so sometimes less so but always so… the big wheel turns regardless, one person in one car…… people eating ice cream under awnings watching winter in spring and arms reach away… precipitation quietly persists…… a castle looking quite at home, its dour, stone-carved audacity looking so clumsy on a sunny day seems to fit right in now, amidst the cavernous grey from which  the rain, the rain, the rain remains restrained, for now… from its walls the big wheel turns, one person in one car… such unforgiving walls, something for a rainy day perhaps… perfect…… the walls steal away the present supplanting the dregs from another time that lingers on the lips of ghosts, waiting, waiting, waiting to be spoken…… cold, dank, desperate, dark, its miserable persona coming into its own, attractive, alluring, enticing… an air of detached inevitability… gulls guard the walls… what do they remember, know?… passed down through generations, gull-lore… they keep telling us but we don’t listen, “surely they’re just laughing at us”, we say… well, would you blame them… the moat retains a multitude of sins, denying the eye access, lacklustre in reflections… and the big wheel keeps on turning, one person in one car, round and around… a gull-eyes view…… gull-envy…… determined souls determined to endure/ enjoy their holiday, their travel/ travails… all this way for… this?…… worry not, tomorrow will be spring again, that’s the way we roll around here, round and around on the big wheel turning, one person in one car… … … …

© 2018 robert greig