Solitude in a little bay all alone.
Bobbing, rocking, a soft rhythmic splas-s-s-s-h-ing and an even softer retreating sound of water on the pitted limestone shoreline.
Water laps, boards creak, canvas flaps, ropes strain and squeak (although Victor tells me I am imagining any squeaking sound from the straining ropes as they are nylon today and no longer made of twine!)
Out of the blue . . . a mysterious rocking . . . turns out to be an unseen ferry passing a bay away.
And then the sound of a motor – Captain Tony is away to the town in the speedboat to collect fresh bread for our breakfast, and to visit a fisherman friend for the sea bass for lunch.
On another morning, the sounds of silence are quite different – there aren”t any!
The sky is lightening. On the mirror surface of the water in our secluded cove, I can see a reflected silhouette of the rough landscape, and a waning moon. And not a sound . . . or movement. Not a hint of a breeze, but I can feel the chill of the morn under my long night-shirt.
I strain to hear something . . . and ask the only other person on board who is awake what he hears . . . “only the voices in my head”, he says.
Instead of any pinkish colouring creeping into what was yesterday’s clearest blue sky, there’s only more light. Finally, the absolute silence is broken . . . an animal sound . . . maybe the deer with the wonderful horns we saw on the beach yesterday has found his mate . . . this also wakes the insects . . . which like a minor orchestra, start to warm up . . . and a gull screeches from the wings . . . morning has broken!