Sitting cross legged on my ultra thin towel like a native Indian I listen across the crescent shaped bay hoping its the one. The one unlike all the others.
As the breeze skims the perfect aquamarine curls, I pick up the sound.
Amplified by the huge twelve mountain Apostles behind me its less a sound and more an inner ear sensation. Long, dull reveberations, like opening only one car window whilst driving at speed.
Wah, Wah, Wah, Wah, Wah, Wah, Wah....deepening and slowly rhythmic
Chuka, Chuka, Chuka, Chuka, Chuka, chuka - the sound changes
A small black damsel fly shape becomes discernable against the infinitely long, whispy clouds of white. I know its the one.
It approaches only seconds after the first sounds catch my ear.
A sight both ominious and seductively beautiful. Long open doors reveal its insides to the world.
Doomed Vietnamese villagers have been replaced by lounging visitors, US pilots by South African entrepreneurs.
This mission will end joyfully. Thank God.
