Monday, August 11, 2008

the fountain, parc lafontaine

you can't make out the edges of the park. there is a mime. he too is in shadow. a man in a white suit rides a unicycle. half a dozen young men in baggy pants joust under a maple with light wooden swords they have made and decorated themselves. they topple over each other landing on the pungent earth. it isn't soft. and like the underweave of a ancient carpet the grasses no long touch each other. in the gaps earth worms ripple and dive. small stones are unearthed. a wine cork, several cigarette butts, several languages, many crickets, the whir of cylcists, the endless versions of bob marley, and this night the Symphony playing Beethoven in Théâtre de Verdure.

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