That fiery Northerly wind has disappeared. Now, you wouldn’t know there was such a thing as breeze, these balmy tropical nights – except for the occasional rustle of mango leaves, of gently swaying coconut fronds, a sudden gavotte from the bamboo poles.
In the afternoon the clouds congregate – thin and wispy, they bring the temperature down. They’re teasers though. Last night not more than a dozen tentative patters on the roof – barely audible until I held my breath.
With the heavens lidded, scents move sideways. There are a few early blossoms on the Sepalika* tree outside my room – little orange canisters releasing their unmistakable, sweet fragrance into the cool of midnight. Frangipani and jasmine arrive from the front, pale and ghostly, like the moon’s faint glow.
Before dawn a fiery moon subsides into black shadow.
* ‘Queen of the Night’, ‘Coral Jasmine’, ‘Harsimgar’, Parijath’, or correctly, Nyctanthes arbour tristis.