The gardens are so meditative here. I wander through them, sit on a bench, climb marble stairs to catch a breeze, or watch the fish in the pond. The grandfather of the current owner died years ago at age 106. He was the original owner of the land and a famous artist and teacher. His work is hung simply on the white walls of small galleries throughout the compound. I sat this morning on a bench in the gallery, looking at some penciled drawings of young men getting ready for a fire dance ceremony. The room had high ceilings and I felt so quiet inside myself, while the tinkling of a small gamelan and the birds outside filled my ears. The incense from the morning offerings drifted in through the open shutters. This is my last day here.