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February soundscape

Rays of morning light enter through the salty windows; as they get trapped in my mother’s laced curtains, they create sunlight tattoos on the rough island wall. I want to Instagram it, but my cat is sleeping on my lap, so I drink a sip of coffee instead and get back to work.

It is so quite here at this time of the year. Passing by cars are rare, walkers are few. When the wind is calm, – not disturbing the sea and the seagulls nor making the cats nervous- it is blissfully quiet or awfully quiet, depending on your mood.

My laptop connects me with the rest of the world for a few hours; and then I descend to this sound free zone. It’s an introvert’s paradise; one, could easily get lost in the silence.

Island life, although seems brutally divided between winter quietness and a roaring summer babel, makes sense in an annual perspective as it feels challenging, yet balanced. If an island’s winter life versus summer life was a movie, I know I’d pay to see it just for the soundtrack: I would rather expect a sort of yin-yang crazy jazzy thing than a Cycladic interpretation of The Four Seasons.

Right now, we are at the white noise months. February soundscape on a calm day is frugal. In the morning silence, I hear the squeaking doors and I can almost hear my cat’s dreams. Outside the house, there is a distant noise of children playing which is coming from the village school, a light breeze blowing on the leaves and some small birds chirping here and there.

I know that in a month or two, hammering, smoothing plane and paint brushing sounds will take over the island, as boats, shops and houses, will be getting their spring renewal treatment, just like us.



photos by christos drazos

words by maria alipranti