Remembering a visit to the spectacular Christo and Jeanne-Claude installation, The Gates. There were a few people walking around inconspicuously except they held canes. If you knew to ask — info passed by word of mouth — they would reach into a bag and give you a swatch of the actual fabric.
[This post came about because I found this swatch of The Gates fabric, quite wrinkled, in the bottom of a purse I had not used in a while.]
The time I spent there was really delightful. Late winter and still chilly, but the park was comfortably full of people of all ages, colors, mobilities, single, pairs, groups, strolling, smiling, chatting. All being themselves, but also somehow aware of being living parts of something monumental, unique, entertaining, and profoundly beautiful.
Photos do it only so much justice, because the installation was so pervasive that views and vistas shifted with the breeze, a turn in the path, the movement of clouds, the time of day. It really was poetic, and everyone felt that in some way that slowed things down a bit and quieted things just a bit as well. Everyone was looking and thinking, as well as talking and moving.