Late on the patio, I watched a small bat zigzag through the evening air, catching insects as it went. Its flight was quick and wonderfully unpredictable—like a sketch drawn in darkness.
The first sign was not a sound, but a scribble in the sky.
Late in the evening, while I was sitting on the patio, a small bat appeared above me. It flew left, right, up, and suddenly vanished—then came swooping back, its wings spread wide as it flew toward me. Its flight was wonderfully erratic, like an invisible pen sketching across the darkness.
It was hunting insects.
For a few minutes, the bat turned the air into its private dining room. It moved almost silently, catching tiny insects that I could not see. I watched its small body and wide wings flash against the evening sky.
I drew it quickly in ballpoint pen, using loose lines to capture the movement rather than every detail. The long, curved lines around the bat suggest the air currents and its sudden changes of direction. The sketch is unfinished by design—just as fleeting as the creature itself.
Where does it shelter during the day? There are no tall, old buildings nearby—only weathered warehouses, loading bays, and forgotten corners. Perhaps one of those places contains a hidden doorway into the bat’s world.
By the time I finished drawing, it had disappeared.
But the night no longer seemed empty. It had wings.
© 2026 Aga, author of Art in Cupboard. All rights reserved.
This is my authorised personal blog and contains my original writing, drawings, photographs, and other creative work. All such content belongs to me unless otherwise stated.
No part of this blog may be copied, reproduced, republished, modified, distributed, commercially used, scraped, or used for AI training without my prior written permission.
My work may not be appropriated, claimed as the work of another person, or redistributed through social media, websites, platforms, or other channels without my prior written permission.
No comments:
Post a Comment