I was supposed to be at a very friendly knit night this evening but instead I'm home, sick with a fever, but my sticks and string are flying as I flop. I've got a gift to finish by Saturday. I'm set up in the shop, where my Rob is working late on an art project... a sound sculpture, to be exact. He's given me a chair to sit in near the center of the action. I'm surrounded by speakers and my ears and head are filling up with the nicest stuff. I'm excited to see (and hear) him seriously working in this new medium; I'm pleased and proud. It feels really right. He's preparing for a show and I think you should join us when it happens. Yes, you.
Late last night we went out for a walk downtown. We heard the most delightful squeaky fuss coming from high up, next to the alley behind the art store. It was sweet, funny bat music. What's a group of bats called? Surely not a flock, or a gaggle. What about a bite (megabite?), or a siphon, or a strangle of bats? Anyway, there was a crowd of them, making a tight little home together behind a sign. We stood there, peering into the dark, listening to them fret, hoping to see them fly out for their nightly hunt. Eventually, they began to emerge, one at a time, each one winging out crazily, many of them buzzing our heads. Bats! They're fabulous! They made me think of skydivers leaping from a plane, only they never fell to earth.
I think I'd like to build some bat houses with Rob. I don't want them in MY house but I'd love to have them as neighbors. I feel pretty sure their voices would end up in a sound sculpture somewhere.