Overtures

[Pisco, 4 hrs drive S of Lima, in a garden]

Cacophony of birdsong in late afternoon, quick fluttering of their little beating wings - like an overly surprised heart - as they fly back and forth over this garden. A soft rustle - plastic bag caught in pale pink geraniums, then a cockerel experimenting with unusual (for him) times of day.

Loud radio amplified off bare brick and plaster, one man's enthusiastic spanish commentary, echoing so he is heard one, two, three times slightly out of sync; the sandy slice and slop of a builder making a wall on buildings that never seem to be finished. A child's hooting toy, nearer, then further, and a man talking on the phone in spanish, leaning out over his balcony because presumably the TV is too loud in his hotel room. Another radio, and another, one playing music rather like a caberet show on a cruise liner and their echoing sounds all coagulate; careful shuffle of a man in flip flops carrying a bag of potatoes. Band saw, car alarm, pigeon, plastering. That man's commentary went, now returns, perhaps not a radio after all but someone driving around leaning out of his car window with a megaphone.

The dusty walls play tricks with sound.

One of the birds is wolf-whistling, and maybe this connects beating wings to beating hearts again; 'Alright my bird?' as we say in Bristol. Yes, alright thanks.

It will be a long wait for enough hush to hear the cactii grow, but someone did think to leave this chair. Finally, I hear my own long sigh through my nose, resting, wondering how this overture will play out in coming days, intrigued that so much noise could be relaxing.


{Today's Soundtrack: yours}

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