Steep slopes have an acoustic ring, sounds can bounce between valley walls. Trees don’t muffle them but resound amid the creeks—parrots, crows, calls the ear never knows. On the ground, Hills hoists shriek bright frocks and tops; a dry breeze litters swimming pools; next door fools with his motor boat (dull thumps, clinks); a wind chime’s ping and, anywhere it’s not dry, a whiff of sub-tropical rot. Our semi-rural in-betweens! In the sky, a droning chop-chop as helicopters hunt dope fiends