Lunilluminarius The bat swoops and wheels and dives in the yard churning the air with furious wings voicing slight eeks as it finds its way snatching bugs from the air a fearsome raptor in the insect world. A wraith to you. Maybe you fear it, or even hate. Too much talk of rabies and vampires nocturnal hunters with wings and claws and teeth. And you may stand and whimper in the yard as you hear the flap of wings and the slight piercing of calls as it darts past you in the blackness. And as you look frantically for a winged body it might seem that only when it flits between the moon and your retina that the bat ceases to be a phantom for a moment as it is laid out ever so briefly against a night light. You only trust in that tunnel of vision. But what you must remember is that the bat is always in the moon.