As I sit at our dining table I can watch the antics of a pair of swallows as they flit back and forth from their nest, under the eaves of the neighbouring two storey house.
They are industrious birds, diving to catch an evening meal at dusk when the security light blinks on attracting insects.
It is a quiet contemplative time of day when anglers perch hidden on the side of riverbanks waiting for the evening rise of nymphs and mayflies. The air stills and all is silent.
The swallows were also active around our Queens condo in Singapore and on the eighth floor we were on a similar level to their flight path.
There the evening was far from quiet with the steady hum of traffic down Commonwealth Avenue. Not that I found this disturbing as one quickly adjusts to the level of ambient sound, at least that is the perception.
Coming back to New Zealand though is also returning to the realisation of what true quiet really is.
Early morning is the same in its solitude, with the dawn chorus of assorted native birds, blackbirds and thrushes in fine voice.
In Singapore it was the call of night birds that were the most memorable but even they receded into acoustic familiarity as time went by.
As I watch, the Botany Downs swallows continue their restless trajectory. Once the artificial light dims they too will return to roost.
The Indian grandmother, whose family own the shop house above the nesting birds, pulls in the last washing of the day and the sound of a strengthening night wind can be heard as the quiet time passes.
