The Hanged Man asks us to surrender our perspective, to turn ourselves upside down in order to see the world anew. The Hoary Bat becomes our guide, a creature that lives in the in-between, clinging to the underside of branches, suspended in quiet inversion. Across the Pacific Northwest, they perish by the thousands each year, victims of rapid air-pressure reduction near moving turbine blades, also known as barotrauma. Beneath this suspended world blooms the Wolf’s Evening Primrose, a flower that opens only in darkness, unfolding to welcome the few nocturnal pollinators that remain. Its habitat, too, is imperiled by urban development and herbicides that erase the delicate spaces where it once thrived. Copper threads sparkle like the pulse of turbines, a reminder of how energy flows, how power can harm or heal, depending on the hands that shape it. The Hanged Man invites us to question what we call progress, to let our certainties dangle, to find wisdom in reversal. When we learn to see from the underside, to hold still long enough to listen, we discover that the world itself is suspended and that our willingness to change may be the only way to keep it turning. We can support these ecologies through orgs such as the Northwestern Bat Hub and the National Park Service Bat Conservation Program. Advocate for safer wind energy solutions through bat-friendly turbine technologies, timing restrictions, and habitat protection. Reduce pesticide use and light pollution that disrupt nocturnal species. Learn about the potential problems caused by garden evening-primrose in areas where hybridization occurs as a rare species may become functionally extinct through genetic swamping after repeated hybridization and backcrossing with a more common species. The hanged man invites us to try new things, and I decided to work with a material I am familiar with in a new way. This vessel is hung upside down as the card itself entails, with a wolf’s head peaking out though one of the flowers.