When. I rise in the mornings, light hits the shiny leaves, making of them, an, out of water reflection. A kind of ghostly watercolour. With many sharp pointed ends, and dense, dark shadowy centres. Whilst through the sharp cut out shapes, the light blue of the vast expanse of sky breaks through. So bright, it hurts your eyes to look at it directly. In places, the morning sun hits the tree top directly, creating small spots of brilliant, dazzling white light. As if, living diamonds hang, sparkling amongst the foliage. Shining through the drops of moisture, left from the night mist.
At dusk, when the sun has dipped below the horizon. A while before dark falls, throwing its heavy blanket over all, real magic occurs. It is the time before fruit bats emerge, to soar blindly around, radar sounding. Delicate, furry little craft, with sharp teeth, and hooked wing tips. Flying fearlessly, feeling their world bounce back at them, showing the path to food. So, before these leathery minions emerge, and after the night jar sings, new glimmers are seen.
Minuscule glimmers, spark, and are gone. Deep within the darkest shadows of leaves movement builds. Gradually, the glimmers strengthen, becoming larger, and of various colours. There are silver, pink, turquoise, lemon, and limes. These soft, jewel colours, and more of assorted mixed tones, build until hundreds are on the move. Flitting both around this tree, and another of similar size, accross the street.
This kaleidoscope of bright fragments are moving away from the trees, in ever increasing circles. Busy, like bees, popping in and out of shadows, skating down sloping, slides of leaves. Dozens, mixing, and intermingling together, in sometimes ordered, sometimes haphazard groups. It's a party scene, of fast moving glimmers. Flashes at such speed, and sometimes grace, as to confuse the eye. Only when one of these sparks of light comes closer to the window, do I see exactly what it is.
The small, smoky blue spark, flies towards the glass. Even with bare eyes, in the gloom of my room I can see well enough. The gossamer wings, with delicate rounded tips, the mass of pale hair above a slender neck, and pair of graceful arms, held aloft. The slight wisp of body covering, in that pure blue, glows as bright as the moon, not yet risen. Two shapely legs, flash, as the little female peers in, interested in the whole room. Ignoring me completely, as if I cannot see her. Perhaps I should not be able to see her? Yet I can!
Suddenly, as if she realises there is a blank where I stand, or perhaps I blink? With a flash of light, she is gone. Just as suddenly, the rest of the lights blink out. All is dark, all is silent, waiting.
Changing windows, and staying in the dark, peering out anew. I wait, watching for any new movement. Warily, only a few at a time, glimmers move cautiously. Time has gone, soon the bats will fly. It stands to reason, that these little creatures will not do well with sharp toothed, hungry bats.
All I see this time, are a few assorted flashes of lights. Nothing like before, no bustle, oh how I miss the sight. Had I not seen the one little creature close up, I would not guess what lives in the palms.
Every night, for the rest of my life, whenever I can, I gaze at palms, at any trees. Never again do I catch even a glimpse. Remember though, if you are ever standing at dusk, near trees, stand very still, and watch carefully. For somewhere still, there are....
FARIES
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