Late summer nights are edged with a bit of magic, don't you agree?
All you gardening folks with datura (witches' weeds) just opening when the sun goes down -
I've been watching your now-mature bushes do their thing as I'm driving by in the evenings.
And my moonflowers are finally strutting their stuff out on my front teepee.
Their huge round blooms seem to almost glow in the dark! They send their thick fragrance wafting around in the mysterious darkness of the front yard - it's romantic, all right!
When I'm up in the night, if there's any moon at all, I pull the drapes all the way open on the french doors in our bedroom, climb back in bed and wait to see if I can spy any nighttime critters en route to rob my greenhouse.
And one night this summer, as evening came into our yard, I discovered ---
I SPEAK BAT
I was talking to the dog who was romping through the zebra grass, not really talking to the bats. My Youngest would be quick to remind that it was the waving that started it all, and that's true.
They just work so hard, flying floppily over our small acre, gobbling up pesky bugs!
So I greeted the first little brown bat of the evening with a friendly wave, and we imagined that it seemed like he had seen us. As if the bat had dipped its wings, so to speak, in return greeting.
Hey, we're out in the country - the only possible witness is the spinster neighbor, and I'm pretty sure she's seen me do much crazier things than wave to bats.
It became plain that I speak bat as I was calling to the dog in my special dog voice.
You can probably imagine what that sounds like.
The bat I had been waving to earlier swooped dramatically toward our perch on an old stump. We ducked, clutched each other's arms and ... tried it again.
This time the bat swooped low enough to clear us from the stump, and it was proof positive ---
I DO SPEAK BAT.