Ah, siesta time on a Spanish summer’s afternoon.
Lay back on the patio couch and be lulled by the whispers of the mountain breeze talking to the tall pines, which are providing some welcome shade from the blazing sun.
An array of birds have settled in the swaying branches to feast on the nuts contained within the pine cones. Occasionally pine cloves are detached, to fall like solitary (large) hailstones on the corrugated carport roof.
But the birds’ noisy activities are usurped by the squeaking of the weather vane going cock-eyed.
Then the neighbours arrive, complete with friends, at their weekend residence next-door, and their dogs bark with delight at receiving company after such a lonesome week. But the dogs soon quieten when the musicas español begins, accompanied by the singing senoritas.
Even this is of no concern, as it is soon overpowered by the arrival of the dear cicadas, which should not be confused with the sweet sound of chirruping crickets. Today the distinctive, squeak-buzzing cicadas are excelling themselves, reaching over 112 decibels on the logarithmic scale.
Sounds of skidding toenails as our three large, terrified dogs scuttle inside the house. Spanish cries of (equivalent) “What the £**& was that?” are heard.
Fear not, my friends, it was just one of the birds at the top of a tree getting carried away with its nut-gathering, and dislodging a grapefruit-sized pine cone from its stem, to fall some 30 feet onto the hollow roof.
Ah, Yes. The perfect setting for a Spanish siesta.