At dusk the bats come. I sit on the balcony watching them scribe their ragged lines across the sky. Some fly low, allowing me glimpses of their leathery spread wings. Others fly high, barely discernible against the darkening sky.
Watching them, I wonder where they've flown from. Botanic Gardens? Somewhere along the Yarra? I've seen them hanging like dark commas from a large fig tree near Bridge Road, but above my apartment, they always fly in from North-West.
Yesterday morning, I walked out onto my street and found a bat lying dead on the sidewalk. I crouched and studied it closer. It looked smaller than the ones I watch and ants had begun their march across its dark fur. Dead bats are not a common sight and for a couple of minutes, I considered photographing it for... something. But, perhaps this was just for me.
I stood up and walked through 4 suburbs to my office, scribing my own ragged lines across the city.