Dancing with Bats- Sunday June 25th, 1995--When Will We Dance Again?

In my late teens/early twenties my mother bought a push button accordion at an antique shop because she thought it was too beautiful to leave there. She didn't know how to play but over the course of many a summer's evening she taught herself the basics out on the back deck. Perhaps this was to the neighbour's chagrin, but certainly to my own delight. 


On warm evenings I would join her to sit in the dark and listen to the crooning of her accordion. It often matched how I felt--melodramatic and a little off key. We would sit and rock on the rocking bench and watch as the bats, beloved night sky dancers of my childhood, swooped swallow- like from tree to eave. There was a rhythm to those evenings of my late youth that I have yet to match in adulthood.

This morning, while sorting through old plastic bins in my garage to donate (for worm composters ) to a fantastic gardening research project my oldest daughter is involved in  I discovered an old journal with a brief entry about one such summer night.

The entry went like this:

Sunday June 25th /95

(Tonight) Just now I danced with the graceful bats to the melodious music of the wind in the trees. And not just any wind, but the warm wind of a beautiful June night.

At first I just sat and watched the bats, a glorious summer's eve pastime, but then I was beckoned to dance in the cool dew.

The dusky blue sky growing darker as I danced- such a perfect, perfect feeling- such a perfect, perfect evening. I know days and sights such as these are good for the soul but tonight I really truly felt it- in  my soul- 

Just run and dance with the bats and the wind but do not dance it away- no, please let these summer evening's stay alive in me forever.

I am trying to recall the last time I saw a bat in my parent's yard, or anywhere but I can't. It has been years. Little did I know when I wrote the entry in '95 that bats on the East Coast would soon become decimated by a fungal infection called  White Nose Syndrome. Nor did I know then that for  many years I would forget how to dance in the dew. 

This past summer, I for a fleeting instant thought I saw one of those dark angels flit across my path. I can only hope that we shall one day meet again and share another dance. In the meantime I will put up a bat box in my yard as a hopeful measure and I will try to pay attention when I feel beckoned by the wind to dance.

Jill

Why Stealing Tomorrow?
This morning in my living room my three kids (14, 11 and 9 years old) were figuring out together how to sing and  play this song on the guitar and piano. When I heard them it made me want to dance again barefoot in the dew.