Mysterious Grace

The black blur sped by ten inches from my nose
below the generous eave under which I sat
on a white plastic Adirondack chair.
It sounded like an old-fashioned dry mop
barely touching a spiderweb;
or like a paper napkin dropping onto a rug.
It was that quiet.
And it was small.
A hummingbird without the buzz;
a wren with soundless feathers.

Dusk fell hard,
ten thousand crickets sang in a rhythmic pulse,
a quarter moon shone whiter.

The thing flew past, again and again,
threading itself between the eave, my face
and the metal tulip rain chain hanging just to my right.

I didn’t startle.
I smiled each time it passed,
almost laughed outright.
Was it playing a game?
I sat completely still
even as a high-pitched mosquito
navigated my earlobe.

If I turned my head to the left to see it coming
minutes ticked by
and I would eventually straighten my neck
to keep it from cramping.
That’s the moment it would fly past.

Its flight was a grace.
I couldn’t force it to comply with my wishes
or make it reveal itself.
But when I acknowledged that fact
there it was, darting by me in the blackness:
a bat.

Its silent flight suddenly made sense:
soft fur, no feathers.
I smiled.
I am a naturalist at heart:
an observer.
I was gaining knowledge by experience
regarding bat flight.
And I accepted the grace.
I was not in control,
the bat was,
and if I wanted to observe it,
I had to accept its terms.

The bat flew by me forty times —
I counted —
never grazing my face,
never giving me warning,
always making me smile.

Photos © Sondra Sula.

Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.

If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.