The world recreates itself as sound
The rain in Brisbane at night
Writing of the Australian night, David Malouf says the “world slowly recreates itself as sound”.
The sound of rain, glorious rain, pelting down on the roof, the tonk of heavy raindrops on the the skylight in the kitchen, spattering on the terracotta tiles of the veranda and rolling over the the taut snare-drum formed by the swimming pool cover, a dance of water vapour shimmering over the rubbery trampoline leaves of the palms surrounding the house. (Ed. This piece was originally published at cityofsound.com on August 25th 2007.)
The sound of eucalypts gasping greedily at the water cascading down their silvery trunks. At last, not just a shower that muddies the topsoil; but a thorough persistent downpour, drenching the roots.
A melancholy absence of noise from the birds, bats and reptiles for once cowed into submission. Although winter’s nightly performances are more subdued than the genuinely loud ‘wall of sound’ of summer, there’s still usually a raucous chorus of bats, kookaburras, mynah birds, cicadas, and what I can only assume is the Outboard Motor Toad. Suddenly, they’re not singing anymore.
The sound of an impromptu transient waterfall below the cantilevered terrace, as guttering that had forgotten that rain could be like…
