chasing bats with Truman Capote's ghost

all the artists get together at Yaddo

My room at Yaddo Artist Residency

I’ve chased three bats out of my room this week. Their velveteen wings make the softest sound when they get stuck, for example, in my trash can. Truman Capote, who stayed in the same room as me in 1946 when he came to Yaddo, complained of the bats, "I simply can't stand that cheep-cheep crying as they circle in the dark.” I am charmed by them, the way they fly like mad out my door, down the stairs, and throughout the mansion. And yet, I don’t want too many to gather around me, so I’ve sprayed peppermint oil on the periphery of my room to keep them at bay. I feel accompanied here by Capote’s ghost, the bats, and all of this, in a cosmic way, has contributed to clarity about the moral universe of my book on the meatpacking industry.

I can hear their wings rustling out there,

in the darkness.

Alice