Hand brewed black liquid
Roils in the small caldron
Promising magic.
Friday, August 7, 2015
Some things are peculiar to a culture. Some things are peculiar to a particular place. The drums of Volcan are peculiar and I really don’t care what category they belong in.
Sporadically during the week we’ll here what sounds like very large marching hand drums being played. In the morning they sound quite far off and are very faint. I figure it’s some school like revelry thing. If we here them at night they’re much louder and very close by. I figure maybe it’s the kid practicing for the school revelry thing.
A few days ago we happen to be walking through town early and we could here that we were getting very close to the source of the drums. Down a side street we saw a bunch of elementary kids in their uniforms lined up. Very cute. The morning mystery drum beat was solved.
I still have no idea where the source of the drums are in the evening. They’re usually played between 6-8 and outside of the repetition of the same rhythm over and over, aren’t nearly as annoying as the microscopic ants that occasionally crawl on us. But if we were any closer to the drums, I’m sure my appreciation of percussion instruments would greatly diminish.
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