I see two young fledgling sparrows on the horizontal palm branch next to our veranda. Cheeping away. Fluffy feathers ruffled by the slight breeze. Perhaps they are trying to join in with a tree full of other youngsters in the other trees nearby. The sighing and rushing of the evening tide provides a lazy background music to the higher notes of the birds.
“Coark, coark, coark…”. A nesting pair of birds, size of something between a crow and a blackbird play a discordant note.
If I listen carefully, I can make out the quiet percussion of large leaves of spiky stiff palm leaves sliding up against each other. I can see a gardener hosing the cultivated gardens of our hotel grounds but he is too far to make out the sound.
Later, we will walk up the sandy incline to the dining room and bar and listen to the music provided and hear the waiters and other staff conversing with each other and guests.
I haven’t been quiet enough in myself to hear the orchestra of nature in this way for a long time.