Neat little rice fields are tucked away everywhere around here. Between gigantic new high-rise hotels and next door to spendy trendy yoga retreats. Some have gamelan music playing over loudspeakers, but most are just quiet except for the giant kites fluttering in the wind overhead. Little weathered super black Indo dudes working all hunched over in the squatting position in the blazing hot sun all day every day chopping at things with their trusty sickle. Maybe a couple skinny cows tied up and chomping away in the corner. I always find rice fields just totally bitchin and stoney. Maybe it's organized rows and stacks of symmetrical lines that draw me in and mesmerize me. Could be that I don't really live in rice country, so it's all new to me. Perhaps Indo dudes would trip out on corn fields or all the hay growing out there in the Palouse. Maybe it's all the gas fumes I'm huffing. I don't know.