Sitting at the back door watching the rain bounce off the banana leaves. A bird shakes it’s wings sending small pellets of water floating into the air. Smoke bellowed from a pile of dried branches the farmer had set on fire before the rain. A song Nat King Cole coming from the transistor radio in the living room. The smell of fishcakes frying, hot cocotea boiling. Ahhh yes, Its Sunday and this Sunday is a no beach Sunday, just sit inside and watch the dirt turn to sticky mud.