Rex barking a welcome or a warning…
Goat bleats and goat bells… The lazy murmuring of bees, the chooky-chook clucking of hens, the twittering arguments of sparrows and the more refined conversations of the susuratha [wagtails*] that hop about the beach...
The rustle of wind in the tamarisk trees and the relentless, mechanical clicking of cicadas…
The clang of Sunday church bells…The echoed shouts of children playing (or fighting) on the jetty…
The busy chugging to and fro of small boats…
The irritable whine of tourist scooters grizzling into the village, pausing momentarily and then, as like as not, roaring off in search of Somewhere and Something Else…
George’s guitar in the bar… The chatter of diners and drinkers… The occasional conversations of pots and pans in the kitchen…
And, every night and every morning, falling asleep and waking up in the house above Artistico, to the gently lapping rise and fall of the surf…
[* Greeks also use susuratha to describe a girl who walks with a wiggle - or a wag of her tail!]
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