Monday, July 30, 2012

July 30, 2012

The house feels like a boiler. With temperatures running high in the three digits and a broken central air-conditioning, cooking was impracticable; and sleep unpromising.

Spending our nights under the grapevine was not only the logical thing to do; it was the finest occurrence and a most delightful experience.

Darkness descended slowly upon the garden and with the last light came the enthralling call of night creatures. Choruses of crickets down the garden path initiated the extravaganza; filling the night air with wonder and magic. From our improvised bed in the porch, I could see the moon amidst tree branches gliding the night sky ever so enchantingly—a queen amongst zillions of shinny maidens.

Once we had settled down and everything got quiet, to my left ear came the sweetest music of a lonesome cricket-singer. Hiding amidst the big leaves of the grapevine he sang his lovely tunes until the Man, having no conscience for such things decided he had enough of it, got up, and went looking for the poor creature round each corner; for sleep would not come to him; being serenaded as we were by such unaccustomed melodies.

I laughed secretly when he came back to bed grumbling something… glad to hear the cricket had won and, retaking its position, soon lulled me to sweet unconsciousness with a most enchanting tune. Truly magical.

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