The sky melts, from lilac to soft orange to the pink flesh of a pomelo. The vibrant ceiling of colours is pierced by the black silhouettes of the coconut tree swaying in the wind. The sounds of the night filter through the thick, sticky air; a child crying, the crackling of the fire, the pulsing of the ceiling fan. Slowly, dozens of small shadows appear on the horizon, bearing down through the last rays thrown out by the sun. Bats, with their wings spread wide to catch the slight breeze, make their evening exodus from the hills, from warm slumber to the night-time feed. They fly over me, graceful and weightless, through tangerine orange and in to the indigo of the evening.