Bats All Over Toronto
Thursday - 04.22.21 - 12:49AM
It was snowing when I woke up this morning and by now, when I’m about to go to sleep, all the snow has melted. It seemed unusual for late April. We’ve had a couple of warm spells recently - a couple of false starts to Spring.
It’s hard to be inspired these days. I try to be observant, to practice noticing small details, but sometimes it feels like there’s nothing to observe.
Maybe I can try noticing the quality of light in the living room during golden hour. How many ways are there to describe honey-like light? I can try noticing how far it reaches, what it touches, where it spills over, where it pools - the quality of warmth, the tenderness of quiet, the poetry of its silence as it marks all the dark corners of my living room and kitchen, dropping slowly, casting shadows, leaving a pale imitation of something brighter in its wake.
Then, when it’s gone, the coolness of the evening - the hushed and muted blue, beautiful and lonely, perfect for solitary walks outside. I need to learn the names of more colours. I need to know what to call that darker evening blue - that deeper, more thoughtful blue - right before the sky completely darkens and turns to black - that quiet, after-sunset blue.
It hangs above us as we sit on two blankets in the park. It must be the tail end of Summer since we’re still wearing t-shirts and shorts. We watch bats zip playfully through the air. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen them in this park. I never knew bats lived here, this far downtown in Toronto. It’s strange to think of them mingling with the city life - with the hipsters and business men of the surrounding neighbourhoods - where people are always busy shuffling to and fro.
I’ve always thought of bats as almost mythical creatures living on the outskirts of some remote, long-forgotten village, waiting and undisturbed by human beings. Or maybe I think of them as more rural, living in abandoned barns, preferring that kind of homey peace and quiet.
But here they are, flying above our heads. It’s gotten dark enough now that the lamp posts have turned on, but still, I can barely see them. Sometimes they fly low and it’s like a passing shadow.
These must be adventurous bats to not mind living in the city. Maybe they’re excited by all the lights and all the noise. Everything must look different from way up there. I wonder if they’re curious about us at all, sitting and talking below them, looking up from to time in awe. I wonder if they notice. I wonder if they care.
