I was a bit cranky when Miss woke me around four. Sleep has been a stranger, my mood in step with brooding sullen skies, or flashes of sapphire sunshine. This morning was golden. A fat golden moon riding a break in the clouds, bathing us in its smile. Too beautiful, and poignant, to haul out the tripod. Minutes later golden glow becomes spiteful slashing wind, the sky cries. Only three more Poya moons on my enchanted isle.
Somewhere, unseen but clearly heard, one of my neighbours has been chasing off the monkeys with a Bibi gun or air rifle. It’s been lonely without the male’s booming challenges, the troupe loping across my roof as they graze the long paddock down to the creek. Catching them as they flee in terror only yields silhouettes of a silently vibrating branch.
For days afterwards they disappear, then, when I’ve almost given up on them returning, I’ll hear the telltale swish of a branch, catch a glimpse of movement in the black bamboo, or the coconut tree on the other side. Occasionally there have been sightings, usually in silhouette – angling for a better shot sees them vaulting off in their freaky one- or two-step dematerialisation.
Sometimes I’ve had a close encounter, usually with a tail, or series of tails – and every once in a blue moon, like this morning, I’ve held my breath long enough to capture a moment’s cautious repose, as they look at me – though more often turning their backs, or looking away in submission.
The big news is that young Hanuman is travelling alone these days – well, except for big leaps, or at the approach of a storm, or for a terror filled exodus. See how he’s grown!
I direct you to Ailsa’s stunning silhouette shots at The Met for a masterly example of her travel theme challenge this week.