The Sound of Summer

Ever walked down the beach with the sun burning down
Waves crashing in as the tide goes out
Oh yeah, oh yeah
Heard the crackle of a flame underneath the stars
Few good friends and an old guitar
Oh yeah, oh yeah
Good times whisper in the air
You can feel it everywhere
This is the sound of summer
You can hear a million colours
This is the sound of
Hearts beating in stereo
Sun singing in a red sky glow
Turn up everywhere you go now
This is the sound of summer

Busby Marou. The Sound of Summer

It is five to five. Five o’clock in the morning, and I’m up already. Awake before the alarm goes off. My eyes are still heavy from the night; I lie in my bed and listen to another day waking up. The ceiling fan above my sleepy head turns incessantly, its metal blades silently cutting through the thick summer night air. Through the open windows, I hear the faint sound of waves crashing on the beach. Palm leaves rustle gently in the early morning breeze. Early morning sound effects brought to you by Mother Nature.

The alarm goes off when I am about to drift into dreamland again. Five past five, and there it is: the bushman’s alarm clock! Also known as my good old pal, the kookaburra, laughing at me. As dawn breaks, a wild chorus of raucous laughter rises from the treetops above. 

What starts with a low chuckle is a mix of trills and chortles, belly laughs and hoots. The whole thing ends with a final low chuckle, and it’s over. The kookaburra is done marking his territory, and I am wide awake. I’d be laughing with him, but it’s the holidays, for goodness’ sake, and I could be sleeping in! Feeling groggy from having been yanked out of my early morning deep sleep, I get up.

In the grey light of the early morning, yet another hour ’til sunrise, I follow the sound of the ocean – the full moon on the horizon silently following me. Inspired by the grating song of the kookaburra, other birds also break out in song. The early mornings, being too dark for predators to look for food, make it the perfect time for them to sing. Doves, thrushes, wrens, warblers, and blackbirds. Magpies, lorikeets, cuckoos, and Willie wagtails. To be honest, I have no idea what they are called. But their names sound pretty, and so does their morning song. As the sun slowly creeps up on the horizon, bathing the day in hues of red and orange and yellow, another summer day is greeted by a symphony of waves and wind and birdsong. The sound of summer.

For each one of us, this season brings impressions and associations. Kids splashing in the water, the hum of a busy beach. Summer tunes playing on the radio. A lawnmower mowing, a leaf blower blowing. A game of cricket in the park. The sound of sausages sizzling on the barbie. The hissing sound of cracking a tinny. Australian summer sounds

Before the beach gets too busy with runners and walkers, coffee drinkers and talkers, I get up and return to my flat. Return to the silence and calm of my little paradise found. And as the day progresses, the summer heat rises, and the air gets more and more still, yet another sound takes hold this summer day: the deafening cacophony of cicadas desperately screeching for a mate. After all, the cicadas are an iconic part of the Australian summer, their dull drone song the soundtrack of a hot summer day. 

Each of the over 1000 different species of cicadas has a different name and tune: the Green Grocer, Yellow Mundy, Black Prince, Brown Baker, and – my favourite – the Piss Wacker. The cicada’s noise, which is used to find a mate as quickly as possible before being gobbled up by one of the many predators, can reach up to 120db. Loud enough for the female to hear the call from a mile away. And loud enough to drown out every other sound. Cicadas sing during hot weather and at night when predators like birds, spiders, ants, and bats are less likely to get them.  And so, as the day melts away and dusk arrives, the song of the cicadas intensifies. And as the kookaburra makes its final call, I return to the beach close to my little white house to watch the day disappear. Watch the light fade into the darkness of the night. Another summer day is done.

My first Australian summer.

I don’t like heat. I don’t like lying at the beach. I loathe the crowds. Still scared of the ocean surf. But I still love the Australian summer! Not only as a place but as a feeling. I love being on holiday and not having to go to school. I love that everyone’s away, and the place is quieter and more chill. I love wasting my days watching the sunrise, having a coffee, and moving slowly through the day. I love finally being brave enough to swim in the ocean and to visit the local rock pool (though I hear there are two blue-ringed octopuses hanging out at the pool that can kill 27 people at once should you be stupid enough to take a selfie with it). I love enjoying a relaxed pizza dinner at a red-checkered table with a bottle of red wine. I love how the trees twinkle in the night sky, and the stars above do the same. I love having wonderful visitors visiting me.

Spending my first summer in Australia on my own isn’t always easy. Or lovely. Or fine. It can be aimless and quiet and lonely at times. But its nothingness gives me time to sit and listen. To listen to what’s going on around me and inside. To watch yet another beautiful sunrise and listen to the sound of my summer.

There are times in life when the firmament of our being seems to collapse, taking all the light with it, swallowing all colour and sound into a silent scream of darkness. This darkness is not terminal but primordial; in it a new self is being born, not with a Big Bang but with a whisper. Our task, then, is only to listen. What we hear becomes new light.

Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower. Maria Popova

Cheers!