Music

7pm to 7am is melodious by the shore in Monrovia. Yesterday I left a pitch black patio for a pitch black house: imagine your eyes are useless and you hear nothing but crickets shrieking in the tall grass, louder than the loudest song on your Nano. Later, the crickets chill out and produce a soft rattle like faraway maracas. There are the frogs that sound like baby pigs fighting over who gets to sit in the front seat. There is the bird that sounds like the teacher in Charlie Brown. There is the hum of a generator in a field somewhere and the echo of water hitting sand. And finally there's you, clicking through your Kindle beneath a tipsy ceiling fan at 3am.