Once in awhile, when I turn off the well-worn, beaten main road and head down the path towards the rice fields and pool, I forget what treasures will greet me: relics of split gates, abandoned half-built houses, all covered in vines, abundantly and lusciously overgrown with arnica bushes, blooming heliconia, banana and coconut trees. I feel as if I’ve stumbled into a Balinese secret garden.
And then, when I emerge, and spy the tiny bunches of frangipani buds, just waiting to explode into their finest colors, hankering to burst out of their patiently swirled-in petals, I’m almost certain that if I hand around a little while, they will magically unfurl in front of my very eyes.
And then, dried and dressed, I retrace my steps, and my attention is suddenly split: a trio of hooper girls flip-flopping their way down the steps towards another hip-swaying day of you-know-what, comparing notes from a vegan meal last night.
It’s no contest, the wispy things win out. I am enthralled, mystified, called in to inspect more closely. Not quite cobwebs, but seemingly so, they punctuate the hill side with a cottony-soft appearance, water drops, blades of grass piercing through the gauze-like substance. I imagine them too fragile to touch, yet too ephemeral to ignore.
I am quite simply mesmerized. By the time I’ve de-hypnotized myself out of the wispy-thing trance, the hoopers have already disappeared down the path. Not even a farmer is in sight. I’m at a loss, so grateful for this divinely inspired manifestation… and wanting so much to share its playful yet delicate beauty – with someone…