Reflections on an 8 hour, 120km-round motorbike ride from Waimarang to Ngonggi in Eastern Sumba

For the joy that filled my heart, as I awoke beneath the net,

And pondered the day’s journey that lay out the creaking door,

Out, up through winding mountains, past the reach of signal towers,

For the gift of the adventure, my heart it gave you thanks.

For the roads that clung to mountains, mingling clouds with asphalt mud,

As they played us, cat-with-mouse, up hills, ‘round every hairpin bend,

While the rain fell all around us, fog’s embracing arms so cold,

For the thrill of mountain passes, my heart it gave you thanks.

For the girl who cooked us lunch up in Kanangga’s hilltop valley,

While the rain continued on, and the coffee warmed our hearts.

She made those simple noodles taste like manna heaven-sent,

For her 14-year-old chef work, my heart it gave you thanks.

For the lady there in Ngonggi, who sent her children scurrying,

Fetching donuts for a stranger who’d already forgot her name,

Though she gave her every utmost, her coffee and her best chair,

For that lady you call daughter, my heart it gave you thanks.

For the flat tyre on the way home, that forced some rest upon us,

For the goats that gave their place in the shelter in the rain,

For the kindness of the road that led us home through dark and fog,

For these things, these moments fleeting, my heart still gives you thanks.

Yes, my heart still gives you thanks.