Snug in a Snag

Once upon a moon, there was a giant wolf bat living inside a snag. When a tree dies it becomes hollow and is from then called a snag. It’s a cozy place for a bat to hide during the rain. Oscar is a large bat, much larger than anyone else in his family. Oscar wiggles his closed eyes when it becomes dark outside and opens them. He jumps down on the floor, stretches, and yawns, washes his face in a sink with a mirror, and winks at himself, then smiles to show his sharp teeth and brushes them.

The damp wind feels good against his face when he flies out through the tree opening into the moonlight. The drizzle turns into raindrops while bats enjoy somersaulting.

"Free shower! I’m free!" Oscar shouts.

Other bats join, and they fly around together catching mosquitos "That was fun everyone, I think I’ll head to town now before dawn!"

His grandmother laughs while observing his eager ways: "You better hurry up before dawn catches you!"

“Without a doubt!” Oskar replies already on his way. Like lightning, he is hardly traceable while flying through the rain and in between trees. He lands with a big thump onto the roof of a farmhouse with a lawn and some trees. Confused and tired, he looks around, and hides under his wings, while behind a tall hemlock covering the roof.

Mary, a rabbit mom, wearing an apron and holding a dishtowel, runs outside to look around. She puts her paws on her waist, worried someone is trying to pull a prank, shakes her head, and steps back inside.

Andris, a bunny boy, manages to climb on top of the roof from his bedroom window and takes notice of Oscar. “Please, let me fly along with you!”

“When someone catches a glimpse of me, they can see I’m friendly and try to put me on a leash, but they forget of my great power and speed. That’s when they need to let go of me or hanging on will truly result in a memory, they will never forget," Oscar mumbles.

“Oh, boo, you are a bore! Give me a ride, come on!”

“You shouldn’t envy me for my wings. They are there since I have family and friends to feed. If you left, you would miss yours,” Oscar grunts in his defense.

Andris approaches him on the rooftop and then tries to jump onto Oscar’s back. “No, ever since I saw you, I’ve thought of nothing else but to ride through forests and caves. I won’t let you go unless you take me along.”

“Hang on tight, kid,” Oscar warns while they take off into the dark woods. He slows down while they reach a few giant snags.

“Did you hear that?” Andris asks.

“That’s just a helpless tree crying,” Oscar observes.

“Why tree, why are you crying?”

“Because I can’t step aside when someone comes my way, and because I have to breath toxic fumes from the city all day,” the tree whimpers.

“Come on now, at least you are not useless, you supply us with oxygen, books, a glorious library, and a home. Even when you’ve lived past your days of prestige and turn into another snag, you will still stand proud and tall,” Oscar comforts before entering his snag abode.

Oscar shrugs from releasing his heavy cargo while Andris steps down inside the library where he lives. “I didn’t know bats read books! I actually thought that you were blind…Who wrote all these books?”

“These are the tales by many creatures, that I’ve collected and bound into fine manuscripts,” Oscar explains while he rests himself upside down on a branch.

“Where are these talented creatures now?” Andris wonders.

“Did you notice that all the trees around us look like lit up Christmas trees? The little lights are actually the eyes of some of the authors of these magical and fanciful books.”

“Are they other bats?”

Oscar remains half asleep while he opens one eye slightly: “Yes, I’m a great grandfather of a bat family, and there are also sapsuckers, woodpeckers, nuthatches, squirrels, and a few porcupines roaming around us this very moment.”

Oscar drifts away into a dream and begins to snore while Andris yawns and pulls out "Pot Creek" from the bookshelf. He finds a carved-out space, just big enough for him to snuggle up in to rest on top of some huge bird feathers. He opens the book while fading away into a dream of potatoes with legs chasing animals in a forest. A voice talks to him while he flies around in the sky: “We lie to have something to say, but the souls don’t, they are potato heads, asleep only while lost in forests filled with madness. Afraid to have their shirts taken from their backs: Hunting the last living animal. A ghost runs away from a waterfall down a spring, passing skeletons hanging from tart scented trees in Pot Creek, off the path and far from the trail. Rains forming dark rivers and bitterness forming a new ghost close by.

These genes were ruined way before pollution and know only of domineering thieves. Trees without crowns except for the hanging tree. Their bark turns into faces with the wind vividly swaying their branches. Their roots move past the flowers and meet up to touch one another at the shimmering lake. Textures and sap seeping the porous crimes of what seemed right at the time. Faces of the tired trees, branches that no longer slap passing by fancies, instead they turn their pain into flowers to comfort the roots lingering toward the shimmering lake of clarity.

The potato heads run away from the springs and the mountains to the beaches of the ocean where stars are falling into the sea. The potato heads run away and leave only minds of trickling little springs from the tallest mountains, dreaming of intricate coral reefs to please and embrace with each tiny wave of fallen starlit astronomy.”