Women on the benches tatting, reading, resting. A retired Kansan widower
passes, glances sidewise. Well, no harm in looking at a comely woman.
Gossip of mothers over baby carriages, "Only nine months old! Mine is a
year. Well, we think he's pretty fine."
Comes the sight-seeing bus. Blare of the megaphone. "Seventeen miles of
driveway, boost, boast, greatest in the world."
All day long the swings are swinging, rhythmic, slow to the touch of
loving hands. Then at night when all is still and dark, they go on
swinging dream children, rhythmic, slow.
Down the slide into the soft sand. Grandpa tending Nellie's children:
"Careful there." Ding, ding like the sound of a temple bell the
whirling, dizzy iron rings clang against their iron pole. Tramp of the
patient little burros. "Mother, I want another cone."
Bum-ti-bum, too-too-too, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-tahh, the band. Wagner by
request. Music lovers in the crowd. A symphony orchestra is very fine,
but simple people like ourselves, we also love a band.
I've never been to Japan, but this must be the way it looks. Tinkle of
the wind bells, petals of Cherry floating down. Sorry, but I've used the
last of the films. Well, we'll come again.
The bears, the big brown grizzlies, leave them now. Out, what is this!
Fairyland of flowers and fragrance. Bears and orchids, wise planned
contrast.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91