The jungle is loud still at 5.30 am when the gong wakes me up for morning meditation. At 6 am the light changes to an otherworldly, soft purple and the animals of night leave their shift, one by one: an owl quietens, followed by the other night birds, and finally the cicadas. Just the next moment, a day bird picks up where its nocturnal colleagues left off: one loud, confident whistle, without a moment’s doubt that the sun will soon rise. The bird’s rival (or friend?) answers. And the day begins.
Down in the rice terraces a man has worked all day. He finished preparing the muddy soil this morning, evening it out with a big bamboo log. Then he spent all afternoon planting rice. He worked fast, sticking baby plants into a symmetrical grid. Afterwards he let the water run nearly empty through the irrigation channels. As long as there is rain on Bali, there will be rice. Unless the volcano erupts and all agriculture is lost for an entire season. It has happened before.
Here at the edge of the jungle, nestled between the rice fields, Nature rules. All we visitors can do is pack our belongings in a mouse and snake -safe box, put out our reading lamps into the sun, to be charged if the sun eventually does come out, and shoo out the bugs gotten lost into our rooms. (Near Batu Karu, Bali, Indonesia; August 2018)
November 16, 2018 at 3:20 pm
Great post 😀
November 16, 2018 at 3:30 pm
Thank you 😊
November 16, 2018 at 3:39 pm
No problem 😁 check out my blog when you get the chance 🙂
February 7, 2019 at 12:06 pm
This is is a short but well written piece. I feel like I’m there when I’m reading it. I particularly like the description at the beginning, waking up to the gong, listening to the birds. Reminds me of when I traveled through Myanmar in 2016.
February 7, 2019 at 1:29 pm
Thank you kindly for reading, and for the feedback! I would love to see Burma some time, too.