...some of the tent erectors (and others preparing for the event) stroll by... and now they are followed by 20 or so white geese with yellow beaks who live in the park... next comes a man with a guard dog of a lead (he seems surprised and pleased when i speak a word of greeting)...
...these newcomers seem at a loss, strangers to this place... but i much like the newness, and the absence of fixity and habit in any such event, half outdoors - from sleeping in a tent in one's garden to modern events like this, or larger... (in the same way that i like conferences, or other special gatherings for a shared purpose).
It's growing dark and the tents are beginning to look mysterious against the trees and beneath the cloudy sky...
...the stillness of the hyperbolic canopies... and the strangeness of a voice testing the amplification by enunciating vowels and certain consonants... which became a sound poem, an unconscious public performance without audience (but for me and a few others walking by in the fading light).
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