Natural and perfect.
A little unsettlingly perfect.
I watch as unflinched affection is pursued under a chestnut tree.
Broad branches, heavy leaves.

This place has created a cycle of rebirth that I fall into year after year. Each time I reach this setting I come to a place of introspection, a time to re-evaluate. I fear that no progress is made in my cycle of years.
Do I come here happier and more content, or more unsettled?
They'll read about this later I suppose.

There's a light coming through the trees.
The kind that movies portray as heavenly.

There's an older man here with scrunched up socks and pastel shorts.
He's dancing to the rhythm.
And there is another.
He has soft hands and holds a child.
She disagrees.








He is beautiful but speaks slow.
Her still, athletic body sways.
His body is still dirty from the evening past.
A hungover yet engaging spirit.
Her, always natural.
Another one, lean and with sharp features, ill from the event.
Red and green. tired from the heat.

an aesthetically pleasing festival of folk.