Kalametiya

Kalametiya harbour. Noon. There are different shades at the place where the water meets – the dark of the river water and the lighter blue of the ocean, the demarcation between the two a line drawn in water.

The sunlight over the harbour is white and strong and harsh. Noon day sun. Sunlight here is painted in different colours depending on the time of the day. In a country of no snow and no seasons, it’s sunlight that decides the mood and texture of a day.

Blue and green are the colours that stand out – blue for the ocean and the green of trees – burutha, thekka, , kaluvara, palmyrah, del, kos – your head would spin if you tried to count all the names. There is a reason why trees were the first gods.

This is a holiday of creatures.

Kalametiya bird sanctuary. A lapwig picks its way across the grass. Tall spindly legs, white bib, looking like an awkwardly dressed waiter in a tuxedo that doesn’t quite fit.

Peacock, its voice dropping loud and harsh into the quiet of the sun. So common here that you don’t even look up when it struts across the road, trailing a storm of bright eyed feathers. Peacock feathers are eyes, you were told as a child. The eyes trail now in the dust.

Mangrove roots reaching up from the muddy water, long fingers gasping for air.

A row of babblers – demalichcho – perched on the wire- chattering, watching as you leave.

A dark shadow far far above, wings outstretched, gliding, turning circles in the bright clear blue of the sky. Kite.

And in the night the house is still except for the sound of water splashing from outside. Two bodies arching across the water – legs extending and moving in unison – two frogs blinking in the water of the swimming pool.