Nimble ivy climbs a trunk with pretty footsteps.Among the garden paraphernalia from last year I find, this morning, a bag of dried bat dung acquired from Oxfam. I have no idea why I didn't use it as intended to fertilise the vegetable beds This year I will scatter it liberally over the ground, fork it into the soil and think of those who dug it out of remote caves in Malaysia. I'll think of the bats too, hanging like tattered umbrellas from the rocky ceiling or fluttering into the night, bestowing from their nether parts their lime-rich nutrient for use in a distant land.
If I could be a bird I would choose to be a pied wagtail and fly in long, shallow, joyous swoops.
3 comments:
This post is pure poetry, all, but especially so the second paragraph.
"I'll think of the bats too, hanging like tattered umbrellas from the rocky ceiling or fluttering into the night, bestowing from their nether parts their lime-rich nutrient for use in a distant land."
Beautiful!
In agreement with Crow and add nice image as well.
Cheers.
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