Sunset with some cumulus on the western horizon, alto above. Red, orange, yellow above the horizon, with green and blue dipping down in between; magenta above (or is it more indigo and violet?). Venus is there, the Southern Cross, Scorpio; wind continues from the south east.
Category Archives: Nature Poetry
Other Side of the Ridge
Up beyond the lakes of Bali—especially Beratan—there is a ridge line where you can look back down upon the lakes, or keep going down from there on the other side to the ocean on the north side beyond. It’s like the lip at the top of a crater. And here, on the north side of the ridge, there is water that still flows; from where exactly, I don’t know—on first glance it seems higher than the lake below. But it flows down none the less, through the narrow valleys in little rivulets and waterfalls. People use it to irrigate hydrangeas—they’re also growing bananas, coffee, pineapples, bamboo. And further down—on the slightly wider, flatter lands—they’re growing rice: the Subak system here, or so I’m told, too.
One island organism.
Offerings to the Gods/Dogs
The offerings with rice and flowers given to the Balinese gods is so often eaten up by birds and cats and dogs.
Dipping Green
Sunset scene on Bali west coast with orange and yellow above the horizon line, and then, below a cloud, there is green dipping down into the orange-yellow section. Above this it is bluer, with Venus shining bright.
Grafted Frangipani
There’s a frangipani tree that hangs over the pool of our villa, which overlooks the beaches of northern Sanur. The frangipani is flowering white and yellow, except for one branch near the centre which flowers pink. We notice this, puzzle over it a while, and investigate no further at the time. Then a couple of days later, while swimming, I come right under the branch in question, and find there something wrapping around where it connects to a larger branch—the pink-flowering section grafted onto the otherwise-yellow-white-flowering tree.
Black Sand White Sand Sanur
Inside the Sanur reef the sand is all white—tiny pieces of broken down coral. ThIs can make it hard to walk on—hard on the feet, and with so much space between the grain there’s often alot of ‘sink’. In the more northern part of Sanur—on the other side of the marina—where there is no more reef, and the boats go out to Lembongan and the Gili Islands—the sand is black again, like the many rocks of this volcanic isle.
Three Mountains Clear
Most days in Bali it’s hard to see as far as the horizon—there is a softness to the light, a watering down. Most days the mountains are in cloud. But not today—today all three mountains are clearly seen from Sanur; always there, but this day seen…like Western Australia seen.
The Way Water Drains in Bali
Sanur and the water is draining slowly from the beach of small limestone coral pieces. It runs out on the outgoing tide in a kind of cross-ways patchwork almost parallell to the shoreline—and it gathers in the ridges left behind. Or almost—there is still a slight downward movement to the next intersecting line—to the next valley amongst the ridges, which takes the water gradually lower and further out to see, following the main line of the tide: criss-crossing, slowly moving, gathering, slipping, watering all.
And I can’t help being reminded, now, of the way the water moves down the whole island of Bali from the lakes and mountains in the north, slowly across all the rice paddies, gradually flowing lower, all of it managed, as it makes its way, slowly, out to sea…before it rises again, and gathers into clouds, which form and sometimes fall as rain over the mountains again.
Island of the Gods
We have moved hotels from Seminyak to Sanur. I take an evening walk along the beach, with Venus and a crescent moon hanging in the west, the limestone cliffs of Lembongan still visible and white. Warungs and restaurants, the beach and the path—all full of life. There are offerings in places—on the beach, in front of buildings, in doorways, at shrines and temples; a small island of so many offerings to the gods—it makes for a different place. An awareness of the unseen, and of the in-between.
Full Bodied Butcherbird
Some mornings near Gerrungup in North Fremantle, or at Galbamaanup Lake Claremont, or up here on Bold Park I hear the grey butcherbird calling from some far-off, high, cymbolic starry place into this world, filling it with song. And on this day he’s really letting it rip through—full-throated, full-breasted, full-skied, song.
John Stubley 