There may not be any blackbirds or dewfall, but there is a unique symphony of sounds that announce the rising of each day.
3.00 am first round of distant roosters
3.30 am pig crunches on hermit crabs under the water tap
4.30 am percussion of leg rope against board as Aquaman exits the pod
4.45 am dawn patrol paddle into the first wave of the day
5.00 am second round of roosters
5.15 am small birds in the coconuts chirp to a crescendo
5.40 am bemo thumps base music on its southward search for passengers
6.00 am bemo passes north with musical horn movement
6.05 am whizz of the blender as we rush to make a green smoothie before the power goes off
6.15 am single stationary motorbike revs with unnecessary fever
6.30 pm second round of irritating motorbike revs (still stationary)
Having the koala as my totem enables me to sleep through some of the noise. Although I aspire to get up with the chirping birds, if I have got a good sleep on and my nine hours aren’t accounted for, I can put in a gold medal effort until the provocation of the motorbike wakes me and I practise a moment of acceptance for my fellow man.
Less common alarm bells include being pissed on by the resident barking gecko, an early banana delivery, or the throaty call of the vegetable lady who left home at 5.00am and thinks 5.45am is a perfectly reasonable time to sell leafy greens. Locals have a different concern for privacy or peace, and on low tide mornings, the gibbon-like vowels of their dialect call through our open bedroom walls before dawn.
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning. Praise with elation.