The wind. Soft drizzle on the corrugated roof. Distant chimes of a bell. Its a temple. I know. A child crying in one of the distant cottages. Crows. Rain. Mist. Clouds. Raindrops splattering on the ground, on leaves, on trees. Loud. The wind. Gets a word in every few seconds. Getting bolder with each try. A man walking on a path. On the only hill that I can see in the mist. Silent footsteps. Monkeys bounding across the tin roof, seeking shelter from the rain. Jarr the senses. Wake you up from your thoughts.
The morning is full of the silence of the hills, and the sounds.