Friday Night at Findley

                                                          Friday night just after nine
on the last Friday of June, 2007.
Here, at the Findley Lake shelter house
Joshua and I have learned about the nocturnal habits
of Ohio’s eleven species of bats.
And although all have fangs which I’d consider
feral
none eat anything larger than a beetle.
This is reassuring
since several make their roost
just above our heads,
hanging,
           f    d
            o    e
              l d 
and shivering in the rafters.
A metallic “CRUNCH!”
and we are startled from our lesson,
and out of the shelter house
to investigate the ranger’s truck, briefly,
and his newly destroyed bumper,
which two days ago
was fitted with new chrome.
Now is a good time for the
“it’s just property” lesson
I’m to give my son.
This will have to wait.
Looking east there is a full moon breaking over the tree line,
the sun reflecting so brilliantly from
the other side of the Earth
that the moon looks
like a glowing ball of fire.
Out comes the telescope
we bought at Radio Shack
from its black Meade shoulder bag
and we attempt to make a visual
with the Barlow and 9mm lenses.
Combined, these are much too powerful
given the brightness and size tonight,
and removing the Barlow still allows us
to distinguish any details
invisible from here at home.
I switch to a 17.9
to view this golden beauty
and am rewarded with
impact scarring
and several large mountains
with on a normal night
would be like ash.
Through the lense
I can see bats flying across,
and they look like giants,
the famed vampires of the tropics
they appear
across the man’s face.
I have an appreciation
for all things old and new
in the deep woods.
Here, three bony sunfish
can comprise an extravagant meal
for a circling pair of screech owls,
at dusk near the boat ramp.
This lake is famous
for not giving up her fish
to the clumsy human hunter.
“Nature to nature”
seems to be the motto
as I watch the birds of prey make off
with what was to be my
sporting enjoyment.
Perhaps I have other things
to worry about.
Like the black water snake
which has stalked my son and I
for the better part of the past
15 minutes
at the spillway
on the northern part of the lake
overlooking the Thorn Trail.
(The beginning loop, if you must know.)
Everything here is rural, though,
and the snake seems more motivated
by curiosity than malice.
After a few quick passes
it slips underneath the water
and is gone.