Kumula.
It’s almost dark.
The tiny tangle of trees on the sandy cay is hot property.
The frigate birds wheel and turn in ever decreasing spirals, descending in their thousands into the dark folds of the mangroves.
Home.
It’s silent, eerie and mesmerising.
Hypnotic.
It seems unreal, and demands your silence.
In your silence there are the sounds of the water lapping.
We sit in awe and then in the darkness we turn to our home.
Kumula.
