Birds are chirping. The sea is crashing low tide onto volcanic rocks so jagged you could cut your bare feet.  Sadhana mantras reverberate in my head from my i-pod’s earbuds. I think they are parrots – the loud squawking birds.  I search among the huge leaves for hummingbirds.  My husband sits with his own set of earbuds listening and chanting sometimes too loud and I have to sush him because the boys are still sleeping.  There they are the emerald throated swift beauties.  These humingbirds flit from the bird of paradise flower to the heliconia probing for their sweet nectar. The same three boats remain anchored in the bay which stretches below.  Tiny sugar ants crawl in zigzag fashion along the imitation limestone tile.

I should be focused internally but honestly, how could anyone expect me to close my eyes to this glorious plantropolis?

The cicadas are warming up for a long day of wing trilling. I wonder if they rest, take turns, have some sort of schedule because once they begin their ear piercing concert they only break when it rains.  I can see them now (in my mind) – the cicada maestro gives the signal. They play for a moment, then rest as the sun has not yet blasted over the mountain.  A dog barks and a workman waves at me from the under-construction villa next door.

The butterflies are the quiet ones. Oops, that’s right I’m supposed to be meditating…

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