Flutters in the universe

14 of #fiftytrees is the false ashoka tree, a familiar Indian sight. These native trees grow lanky and are quite susceptible to bending and breaking in rough winds. This one is a pruned version while my old friends are tall and bendy. A giant bat would retreat in the droopy foliage of one close to my window to catch a good day’s rest. Come evening and he/she would yawn its wings and rise for the fast falling dark.

Twilight would shake these winged creatures of dusk and there would be colonies of little bats crisscrossing the quiet lane. It is overwhelming, the magic of nature playing out in one tiny corner of a small city in the unimaginably vast universe. How many flutters of how many wings are orchestrated every single moment? I suppose this immensity would have made the rishis of old break into praise in flawless metres of poetry. Why would one need to limit it with paltry authorship of one hand?