August 2025
This has been a seemingly endless summer in La Laguna, with more suppers on the terrace during August than in some entire summers. What a pleasure it has been on these sunny, warm evenings to linger over the table, chatting and tracking shooting stars and the last flight to Madrid, which passes directly overhead.
Once it has gone, someone inevitably comments on how silent the night here is. What they mean is that there is no noise of traffic, no ongoing sounds, as there so often are in urban spaces. It is never completely silent, though. When I’m on my own, I sometimes sit outside of an evening and note all the sounds I can hear when I really listen. The list is surprisingly varied, from the sound of birds settling for the night and the insect chorus of crickets and cicadas, to cattle shuffling in their stalls, a door slamming, the wind rustling through the trees or a dog’s bark from across the valley. If I wake in the small hours, it is usually because La Laguna’s own dogs have detected some nocturnal visitor, like a fox or a weasel, or because the moon is full. On many summer nights I hear the cries of owls, though I can only guess at which varieties they are, since I never see them.
I have only once experienced a period of total silence here, and that took place on April 28 this year, when Spain’s national grid was knocked out, together with those of most of Europe. Indoors, candles and flashlights allowed normal activities to go on, but after sunset, complete darkness reigned outside.
That was unsettling, but I concluded that the strangest aspect of those few hours was that no living creature, large or small, tame or wild, stirred or made a sound. The silence was as absolute as the darkness.
The lights came back on during the night, and by morning, the birds were singing again.