As I drive across the causeway
I think of the bats underneath
who surely must be sleeping
at high noon, given that they
emerge at dusk on their
appointed rounds as
insect catchers and
good stewards of
these rice fields.

I wonder if all the traffic noise
bothers them as thousands
of vehicles rumble over
their snug space, as
the jolt and bam of
construction on
this great span
continues
ad nauseum.

Or, like some of us who live
near freeways, perhaps
the noise morphs into
the sounds of waves,
a rolling and receding
lullaby, alive with
the everyday
thrum of
home,

soothing the wee
beasties as they drift
into their daytime slumber.