Crepuscular

Twilight, not of the gods, not götter-
dämmerung, but the preserve of 
thousands of fruit bats heading out 

from their common roosts to partake 
of fruit or nectar or flowers, whatever 
food is available to them at this time of 

year. The sky runs its own race behind
this curtain of wings, gradually grow-
ing darker as the parade diminishes.