sunnudagur, janúar 27, 2008


I only just saw it: a bit of fur in the dusty corner between the brick wall and the cold metal door frame. It looked like the scrap of an animal someone had crumpled up and carelessly discarded after using only once.

There was a quick breath pulsing in it, some life in the furry pouch after all. A small brown bat. I disturbed it: it began clambering on its tenterhook wrists across the pavement to the flowerbed. I did not leave until it had hooked its way a double hand's-breadth up the wall and bivouaced head-down from a meager twist of vine.

When I came back, after dark, it was gone.

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