Bats, ducks and the moon

Another beautiful evening, warm as though it were summer and not April. I was down at the lake, so it was even more beautiful. The trees, still bare but beginning to grow buds and leaves, dark unmoving silhouettes against the darkening sky; the lake, mirroring the surroundings like polished glass, almost undisturbed safe for small ripples around the loons swimming and fishing. On the peninsula, some youths had made a fire and were listening to music. Around the lake, the last joggers and rollerbladers were making use of the last daylight, while the sun was setting and the full moon was rising above, both drawing short roads of light on the lake, red and pale yellow. The moscitoes were flying low and so were the bats, sweeping over the water in circles and eights. Planes flew overhead and drew stripes of condensed water behind them, coloured brightly orange by the sunset. Then, when the sky had turned from blue to purple to red to dark, I left.
This world is so beautiful when you are at the right place at the right time. The bats and the loons and the moon were doing what they've been doing for centuries (albeit not so early in the year, I suppose - global warming?). Somehow, I find it extremely comforting that even when idiots rule the world, some things just remain beautiful. Maybe I'm just trying to escape reality and responsibility once again. But why should bad news be any more real than a peaceful evening at the lake?

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( Deutsche Fassung )

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