When I stood in front of this picture I could feel the soft salt spray on my face and chest and, off in the distance, the warm, ocean breeze gently swirled the sarong around her hips and legs like a floral, orange cloud.

She came by later and strung up a hammock between the two palm trees. She told me that her name was Dayu, but, angels don't really have names, do they?

It isn't for the surfing that you really come to this beach, it is to listen to Mother Ocean sing to you.

This egg is hand painted by a young Balinese artist who just walks up and down a beach in Sanur, pausing to paint these delicate beauties as he talks to his friends, or the awed tourists and, sometimes to his quiet muse.