Barz stretched his black velvety wings and shook off the bits of oak bark that covered his tiny body. He listened quietly for a minute. Outside his crumbly nest deep in the hollow of the sparse oak, the August insects formed a growing, chattering chorus, whirring through the summer night air. He sometimes thought about putting a nameplate on the door that said, “Quercus Robur.” He would do that when he had company—if that ever happened. The sprawl of insects formed a shimmering curtain against the darkness of the Downs. His little tummy rumbled in anticipation of the nighttime feast. It was time to hunt and time to play.

He sailed out of the hollow on Devil’s Dyke ridge like a minuscule stealth bomber, gliding through the dewy canopy of beech trees. He scanned the horizon for his nemesis, Swivel-Headed Barney, who was out hunting for his dinner too. You never knew when these owls had you in their sights. He was lucky that he was pretty fast. Anyway, it was time to start spitting some bars. Zip, bap, boom, zing! He opened his little jaws and scooped up a yummy moth. He hungrily chewed its still-twitching wings in record time. Ha, he just couldn’t be stopped.

“I’m Barz, slayer of the night air

My sound bombs dart from here to there

Nobody around here can defeat me

I am the champion of poetry.

Barz of lyrics, Barz of sound,

I hit my target before they turn around.

No one in this neck of the woods is badder than me,

But yeah, let’s see who wants to test me.

All over the Downs, they know about me

Because I am famous for my echo artistry

The way I wage my super sonic warfare

I slice my prey through the atmosphere.

I’m the sound man badman

The sonic renegade

The soul rebel

The musical Blade.

My pitch is perfect

My bars are elite

By the time my sound connects

All the moths land at my feet.

Barbastella barbastellus

The aerial storyteller

My lyrical barz

Slice through the stars.

When I enter the cool night air

All the insects shake with fear

None before me shall escape

Once they are in my dreadful wake.

Famed for my expert hunting

And my masterful crafting

Of the dance, pulse and rhythm

A musical sound system.”

He slowed down his descent till he got to the lower part of the treeline. Barz was about the size of a matchbox. His white-tipped wings would only cover the width of a ruler, but his personality was bigger than Brighton Pier. He might be a lone ranger, a solitary warrior, and a creature of the dark, but he wasn’t totally scared of the big boys. He was used to swooping through the treetops, keeping it low, and being on the lookout for old Swivel-Head Barney—listening for the ghostly hoots and picking up the soft “flppp” of moth wings that made up his nightly starters. Barney was a menacing white feathery blur who could come out of any part of the woods. He had to keep his wits about him before he became owl dinner. The carpet of wild garlic and bluebells tried to shelter the night march of beetles and caterpillars that came out to frolic under the moonlight. Before him, the scene spread out like a nocturnal picnic buffet.

“I travel so far and wide

Across this rolling countryside

Though I am a hunter extraordinaire

The one sound I am yet to hear

Is of a travel buddy in the skies

Someone enchanting yet wise

With whom can I share my nightly feasting

This is what I’m missing.

Because I’m a creature so rare

There is no one like me to share

The mesmerising, stunning sound and sight

of a star-spangled South Downs night

Skimming rippling ponds and lakes

Meandering streams and olden trees

Racing past roosts and hollows

Like there’s only tonight and no tomorrow.

My sonar carries Cupid’s arrows

Over the bramble and the hedgerows

Still they never find my special target

My ears expand but nothing rebounds

Just a hollow, empty lack of sound.

I send out the love-seeking missile

It crashes through the meadows, clifftops and the dewy sprinkle

Nothing returns but the flutter of Y moths and the fireflies’ twinkle

To the nest I scramble and I angrily spit my bars

I know my bars are full of wonder and radiance

And I praythat one day I will have an audience

Even if it's just of one.”

Barz perched on the hedgerow at Ditchling Beacon and took in the aroma of the open chalk grassland. He had come to a decision. It was time to see if there was anyone out there for him. He didn’t want to end up a forgotten poet, buried under crushed leaves with his gift gone unknown and unrecognised. He needed to shine and share his gift with the world. If he couldn’t reach the world,all he needed was just one person who could see his poet’s heart. The sounds, the trills, the clicks that spilt out of him were not only for seeking food, but for finding love and friendship.

He had to keep looking across the Downs to see if there was anything or anyone out there for him. Someone just like him, who wanted to form sounds into artistry and create soundscapes across the cliffs, sky, meadows, and rivers.Sounds that bounced off the forest floor carpet, pinged off the ancestral woodland and kissed the sky. Music that made the fireflies twitch and dance and the beetles skittle and twerk underleaf in an irresistible, poetic rap that drummed across the bark,skipped across the fallen leaves and poked at the tiresome snowy barn owl skimming through the hollow in hot pursuit of the field mouse down below.

He squared up and took off towards the Midhurst Meadows, where he dipped and danced among the caddisfly swarms and grabbed a midnight snack. He practised his long-range sonar stealth tactics among the long-legged crane flies as they tried to twirl and dart out of his way like acrobats on a nighttime swing. He lobbed his echoes across their tiny, floundering bodies as they twitched and flitted. The wispy Y moths taunted him quietly and said, “You can’t catch us Barz. Our wings will flutter and slip through your sonic traps. You'd better focus on keeping out of old Barney’s way, as he is out tonight and looking for a quick bite and you would make an excellent midweek morsel. The Y moths' velvety laugh matched the flapping of their wings. Barz spat back with a “ping-ping-ping” and his shots sang against their skin as they dropped below, swirling, twirling until he scooped them up in an aerial acrobatic display. Barz giggled, “What did you say? Yeah, I didn’t think so- I am the lyrical maestro- dropping sound, knowledge and making you quake. I can see and hear the knobbly beetle shake. I can hear Slinky the hidden moth under the brush saying a prayer. I know you’re there. Many have tried, few have escaped. It’s game over for you, miserable bugs. I am Barz the fantastical, masterful, Barbastella Barbastellus. You might run, but you cannot hide.”

He caught the glint of the glossy armour of Knobble the ground beetle as he tried to hurry his slow march through the underground. Knobble muttered about dodging dinky little bats who were rubbish at poetry. Barz muttered, “You know I can hear you right”, before he swooped down and crunched him up quickly in his pincer-like teeth.

A sudden shift in the wind alerted Barz just in time. Barney was on the loose - time to make scarce. He would continue the battle of words another time. This owl was not to be messed with and had been on Barz’ behind for quite a long time. He was proud to have dodged him because he was definitely scary. His big, feathery body was almost as frightening as his silent, deadly eyes that pierced everything. He dive bombed his way into a crack in the hawthorn just as Barney glided down towards him from his stakeout point in the beech tree. Barney swivelled his big white head all the way round, focused his laser beam eyes and caught a glimpse of Barz’s shivering form through the leaves. “Maybe not this time, Barz. But definitely the next…” He launched his ghostly wingspan up towards the horizon.

Barz caught his breath and let the fear evaporate. He murmured,

“Not tonight, Barn

Once again for the lyrical master

You tried to pounce but I was even faster.

I’m darting around like a shadow dancer.

I may be what you want

You just gotta come better.”

It was time to move along. Besides, there was loads of food tonight. He knew he was good at what he did; however he was not stupid. Behind him, he could hear the drone of the gnats as they gossiped about his hasty departure and placed bets on whether Barney would catch him tonight or tomorrow.

Over the Amberley wild brooks, he hovered, weaving over the water, scanning the clouds of midges peppered above the reeds, haphazardly bouncing sounds across the cool, rippling water. For some reason, he was not hungry. He had lost his appetite for the hunt. The crane flies skimmed their gangly legs over the waterways as he drifted past, murmuring their relief. He heard them but never replied. He had no words this time as he moved noiselessly on, searching, seeking yet not quite hitting that one elusive target.

He inhaled the floral warmth of the hawthorn thickets through the next valley and stopped to rest. Should he keep going or return to his bachelor's nest and rest, dreaming of another life where he would build a nest for two in a bigger tree?

He could feel some bars bubbling inside him. He knew this was going to be his next stage. The fireflies looked like sparklers in the night air and he pictured himself ready to lay down the track. He sensed something was about to change; he just was not sure what. He spread his wings as the night air pressed against their membrane, making a gentle pulse in tandem with his beating heart.

Then he heard it. The pulses that sounded like nothing else. They were longer, warmer and mysterious.

They reverberated through the air like strings on a violin, twanging off the hilltop, bouncing and echoing off the beeches. They seemed far yet wrapped around him and whispered in his ear like a newly written song.

He whirled around, trying to catch the source; he dove into the treeline and threw out a pulse of his own.The answer pinged back, piercing through the forest, an invite to share sound. He released a staccato round of clicks and bouncing back across the distance came the partner sounds that pierced his tiny heart.

Where was she? As he opened his mouth to send another call, the moon shone its spotlight on the branch that would change his life. There she was, slicing and dicing with a silver Y moth, wrapping it up in her own captivating web of sound. He drew closer and she smelt of night rain, crushed leaves and the hint of wildflowers. He sent another pulse towards her, asking one thing.

“Lyrix” was the reply.“Barz” was his answer. They clicked and trilled and pinged like a pair of nocturnally possessed keyboards. Questions and chatter and puns and wordplay caught up with the music between the two. Barz shared his latest poem of beetles at play in the meadow and his heroic escape from the giant owl. Lyrix showed him her latest song that had made her hunting skills second to none in her part of the wood.

She nudged closer to him, inviting him to join forces, to collaborate. Barz felt his big ears turn warm. His feet tapped nervously against the tree bark. He pinged his answer and she smiled, showing her own sharp teeth.

She launched herself into the sky, lobbing pulses in her musky wake as insects tumbled to the ground below. Barz followed her song, layering his own special clicks and lines to the poem and scooped them up and offered them to her. They spun, laughed and passed a mothy meal between them. They drew closer, looking out over the Downs. They had found each other. They gorged on caterpillars while crafting verses that rang out over the tangled woods and remixed with the staccato chorus of the frogs near the edges of the streams. Their duet of clicks climbed over the tree canopy and evaporated into the starry paths,creating a harmony that only they could hear.

They sat on the chalky cliff edge and the rhythmic banter looped in whispers all around, shimmering through the blades of grass and threading through the twilight. Their conversation was pulse-bright and silver-tongued. Their trembling wings drummed a steady heartbeat for the Downs. Lyrix’s calls reached a part of him he didn’t know was there, and Barz felt his existence stretch and expand like the bow of a double bass. He shared the deep, resonant echoes that tumbled from his lips that spoke of longing, belonging and an inner peace. Every one was like a thread that wove them closer together.

“They fit and clicked

Like a musical puzzle.

Lyrix met Barz

To form the perfect couple.

The mix of sound and flight

Made everything just right

Their hollow was warm and cosy;

The perfect space for a family.

Their musical collab was just the start

To fill the echo chamber in their hearts.”

END

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