Collateral Damage

I stopped the car in the shade next to the pile of rocks. My son, selecting rocks carefully from the pile for his flower gardens, noticed a bat there, crushed, where the tire had tread. πŸ˜• Perhaps he was dead before I rolled over him. I was reminded of β€œThe Mower,” by Philip Larkin. To be kind while there is still time, we first give our attention.