ABSTRACT
I am slowly walking down the steps of a garden, alongside a low, moss-covered stone wall beyond which a paddy field stretches towards the hills. It is still light, but soon it will be dark, for here in the tropics – in Sri Lanka – the sun descends quickly. For the moment, rays of sunshine stream through narrow spaces in the thick foliage of the trees. This light is reflected by the surface of the pool that lies at the bottom of the steps, and by the scales of the small red fish that swim just below this surface. As well as the slight plopping sounds made by the fish, I can hear the calls and chatter of birds – crows, parrots, babblers – that briefly stop over in the trees on the way to their roosts. I can also hear the soft sounds of a solitary flute and, still more faintly, the chanting of monks from the temple on a hillside beyond the paddy field.
