No bats, Boom Bridge

It was a little less Indian Summer today, but not cold enough to keep me from a house project: painting a run of trim on the second floor. This was not a hard job, but it was a deeply joyous accomplishment because, well, because I could actually now do it. The Lyme arthritis has receded enough that I can lift and position a pretty heavy ladder and, with little real difficulty, as long as I'm wearing wrist braces and am very careful, scrape, sand with an orbital, hoist a gallon of white satin, and paint. Praise be... and give thanks to Doxycycline, my medical team, and my immune system. But the achievement was tinged with a bit of sorrow, for as I was finishing up and the late afternoon was turning dusky gold, I realized something was missing from the scene. In Indian Summers past as the day was fading, I'd often be buzzed by bats. This is a little unnerving, but the flying mammals, out to fatten up a bit more before going to sleep for the winter, were unerring in their flight paths and never posed any danger. The fact that they're not patrolling the skies these days is cause for sadness and means that the White Nose Syndrome plague which has taken an awful toll on chiropterans throughout the East has pushed bats one awful step closer to extinction.