Saturday, August 24, 2002

Blue Silos at Night

Last night I went on a journey, a drive through neighborhood streets leading to several open soccer and softball fields, leading to the parking lot of an old grain silo. It took a moment before I could see the silo from the car window. When I did it hovered in the sky, fifteen stories or more of white concrete ridges, worn and marked in beautiful smokes.

Sitting on a burlap potato sack and resting my hands back on asphalt crumbles, the show began. Like a drive-in movie, interviews with longtime Redhook residents projected onto the silo. The interviews started off side-by-side, two close-ups played at intervals; then the voice tracks layered in rounds. Little fairies danced from strings on top of the screen, pushing off of the concrete in deep bends that allowed them to swim in the sky. Dressed like miners, the acrobatic dancers interpreted clashes of old and new.

The final scene projected wheat fields, close-up, swirling in a strong wind. Five fairies dropped down to play in the wheat, swooping, jumping, spinning, and dancing, continuously.

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