more bats and bell towers

bell mechanism, Brecon cathedral

Yesterday I quoted Claude Debussy as having said:

The colour of my soul is iron-grey and sad bats wheel about the steeple of my dreams.

I’d found the quotation on the web, but, as with so much information out there today, there was no source cited and no original French.

So I went looking and found this in a footnote of Debussy: his life and mind, Volume 1 by Edward Lockspeiser:

J’ai en ce moment l’âme gris-fer et de tristes chauves-souris tournent au clocher de mes rêves!

Which makes it look as if the quotation is genuine.
Continue reading “more bats and bell towers”

(not) a batting title

blue sky with faint clouds and oak tree buds

Against a spring-blue sky
the twitch and loop of flickering wings
says: pipistrelle!


Of course it’s saying it in Spanish, and I see from the IberiaNature glossary that there are some two dozen species of murciélago in Spain, so I may be mis-hearing what’s being said.
Continue reading “(not) a batting title”

like a lamb

Well, we’ve reached the end of the month and the expression “February fill dyke” has never seemed more appropriate.

How March is to come in remains to be seen: last night, I thought it was going to come roaring like a lion, but today has been as mild a day as you could wish for. On a walk back from the village at lunch time I saw:

  • swallows: I don’t know how many it takes to make a summer in Spain, but there were several.
  • lizards: not the first of the season, but the first time this year that I have seen more than just the one.
  • a stork circling the church tower.
  • a bat: I thought for a moment it was another swallow, but there’s no doubt it was a bat, even though it was broad daylight.
  • a red admiral butterfly: who must have managed to weather the storms and was now enjoying the sunshine

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of bats, bees and bras

All this fuss in the UK free press about a the girl who found a baby bat asleep in the padding of her bra and didn’t immediately realise it. She has my sympathy.

Earlier in the year, I’d washed some jeans and hug them outside to dry. I didn’t notice anything odd when I got them in that night, nor when I gathered them up un-ironed the next morning and pulled them on after my shower. But when I’d got them on, I realised I must have left a hanky in the pocket, so put my hand in to get it out.

How quickly does the mind react?
Continue reading “of bats, bees and bras”

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