Pondicherry, 16.apr.99

Yesterday, or perhaps it was the day before (or even one before that, for
it's all the same here), the dragonflies happened.  There I lay in bed,
allowing the overhead fan to breathe some air into the suffocating heat,
when I saw them through the open window which communicates  to the garden,
and then to the sea.  It seemed as though, taking advantage of the
afternoon malaise all around -- even the trees had begun to droop with the
weight of the sun's pressing force -- they had laid siege to the garden,
swarming in, a pullulating fleet of insect invaders, claiming their
territory and its lush meticulous landscaping, and then reveling in their
conquest like children amok.  They had not been there before, yet they
were there in force, freshly hatched by the hundreds and darting about
with a zeal and agility that almost hurt to see, dazzling in the dazzling
light, a nimble cloud of precise confusion, mocking the stillness of the
cloudless sky and the deserted stone paths.  Large eyes glittering with
wonder; a black bulb like a fuselage of organs and essential pulp; a
gleaming stick refracting from the day all the colors that black could
possibly ever be; and twin pairs of wings reflecting all the colors of
white, not appearing to move, but only to somehow magically propel, and to
allow that greatest miracle of flight: hovering, which is not truly flight
but something more: a flaunting of the forces of the heavy earth, and the
heavy stifling air; they buzzed and frolicked through the garden as though
it were Eden and they the first born and masters of earth, ignorant of the
rules which bound all other species to their shaded nests, and rejoicing
in the newfound gift of life.

At length and at last dusk advanced, gently creeping its soft edges and
bold, early stars across the pale, focusless meridians toward the horizon,
and dragging behind it the sharp resolution of night.  In the lingering
horizontal pink cast drifting across the land from the far western edge of
the world, the dragonflies' buzz was nearly still visible, irresponsible,
unaware that this their first night on earth could bring with it danger,
as so many other creatures perked into crepuscular activity, and the winds
summoned from the reaches of the sea drifted forth to blow the last traces
of light from their newly claimed sky.  The world could breathe again.
And the night, as if in retaliation against hose innocents who dared
exhibit their flicking flits of life without waiting for its soothing
embrace, brought forth its own dark army:  the bats.  From the trees, from
the bushes, from the sky they came, swooping and wheeling through the
black air toward the lights which had begun to illuminate the garden not
an hour before, diving through the flooding beams of visibility,
describing deft, tight circles within the barely silhouetting shadows, and
then plunging anew into the concentrated light again as through a
waterfall, each time targeting one of the invisible myriad specks which
swirled and teemed within the blinding, deadly glare, a frenzied feast,
the black avengers mercilessly culling the lovers of light, and reclaiming
them as fuel for their dark power.  They were beautiful, and fearless,
often even careening a loop around my very head as they reversed their
course to make another sortie.  I stood amazed at the rail of my balcony,
listening to the rubbery flaps of their stretched-skin wings, witnessing
their dark carnage in the streaming lights.  They ducked, swerved and
dove, rampaging with thirsty abandon throughout the night until, long
after I had gone to bed, they deserted their corpseless field of battle,
retreating to their sheltered lairs under threat of another dawning
brimstone day.

The following afternoon, there were no swarms of dragonflies.  That night,
I saw no swarms of bats.  But the days remain blazing and hot, followed
always by evenings of relative cool, and though one battle may have been
fought, the war, the eternal conflict between day and night rages on, as
it will, until the earth is burnt away, and the darkness closes in
forever.

And nature just IS, without justification or concern, benign, and
indifferent.