Here in this great space, sandwiched between Richardson's Trinity church and McKim's library, In this place of sophisticated aesthetics erupts a celebration of Ceres. A dionynisia of fertility and plenty and beauty, beauty of fruits, beauty of light, beauty of people.
The sky is a pale cobalt cup, a Ming cup, still and translucent and radient.
The lowering rays of sun steal through the branches of the trees and explode in brilliance on the white marquees that shelter under them.
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