journal features

bats over the beaches

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Victoria Harbour, 2015.08.14

I was nearly home when I came upon some small bats gliding over the street – at the level of my helmet! I do love seeing bats about, it means that mosquitoes are dying, and they are beautiful in flight.

At twenty to nine I set off under threatening storms on a trek north that took two and a half long hours. It wasn't quite the Iliad, but I sure saw some sights. Insane cell phone driving, unannounced construction closures, and inexplicable holes in the driving infrastructure (e.g. being unable to get onto the northbound 400 from Steeles). Happily, the temperature fell from 25° to 17° before I got to the cottage.

I'm here to do four things:

a. Finish mopping up this season's phragmites.

b. Haul the appliances out of the basement with the scrap metal man.

c. See my mum's cousin Neal, who I have not seen in thirty years.

d. Do a little fishing.

rand()m quote

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.

—Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.