Each sunset in spring, summer and fall, the bats unfold themselves out of a crack less than a quarter of an inch wide and, apparition-like, disappear into the gloaming over our garden and into the countryside beyond. Each morning in the dim before sunrise, they return and put themselves carefully back to bed in a seemingly choreographed flight pattern, circling beneath the deep eaves of our back porch. Each bat takes its turn, swiftly but carefully folding itself back up into the eave to rest for the day. Their daily patterns are mesmerizing to me and my family.