The 13^th

Four of our five having coming down from Pumpkin Hill the other day at sunset and lacking flashlights returned to the cave at the hills base. Past barbed wired pastures and up the solid roots of the stately tree eternally clinging to the shear jagged volcanic stone wall to the entrance. A sort of a porch, 25 feet off the ground with many seats and drink holders. Single file we crouched through the entrance hole to the first chamber, the heat already soaking us. We squeezed through the next two passage ways with excellent claustrophobia, avoiding the “mud” on the floor in vain to the third chamber. This chamber held the bats. Before getting here we agreed “don’t shine the lights up, so we don’t wake them”,  but immediately inside we illuminated them like can-can dancers. They remained surprisingly calm, just hanging, upside down, wrapped in their cloak, dangling to and fro, deciding to flutter wildly ever once in a while. We soon decided to about face, only half upset with only just scratching the surface of the cave, the other half more than happy to abandon the rarely felt sense of claustrophobia.