Going Batty

A sea of red dirt sweeps out as far as the eye can see, peppered thickly with curls of low salt bush, and the occasional tree hung sparsely with tight prickled leaves. Miles from nowhere. I am oddly transfixed by the desolate beauty and the richness in the empty spaces.

From this vast nothing a town appears as a mirage. Well, not quite a town. More the shadow of an excuse to make a mark on a map. A petrol station with a café and camping ground, surrounded by a vast expanse of nothing and no one. Just a vacant flatland where life hides beneath the surface, never quite rearing its head, humming quietly in the peace.

I sleep well and awake to the sound of scratching under the car. I think nothing of it as there have been mice plagues across the south of Australia all season, and assume it’s a pesky rodent or few trying to eat through the floor of my van. Good luck pal.

The next morning I open my back door to find a little black bat curled up around the door lock. Bats are one of my favourite creatures so this makes my belly do a little backflip in delight. I gently move it on so I can close the door, it flies off in a big circle and lands right back where it started. I shoo it off again, and this time it circles back to land on my pants, crawling up my leg.

I’m so jubilant I almost cry at this darling little creature. The neighbouring campers are mortified. I giggle silently. They must think I’m some freaky witch like the ones in the movies. I don’t care, I have so much joy in this encounter I am buzzing for days afterwards.