The weekend was memorable. I tried to take in the landscape as I walked freely under the mid-summer sky. The Canadian geese were numerous on the shores of a small lake, and had grown haughty from delicacies thrown to them by passers-by; they pecked with idle disinterest at the corn we placed on the ground for their inspection. They had developed a taste for the refined; mere corn would no longer suffice. Though the geese were considered tame by most standards, they yet held a firm bond to the wild which no human bribery could erase. I was drawn to this quality, for in their willowy black necks I saw the northern wilderness and inevitable flight; they were not prisoners of the city, but came and later departed through a will of their own. Unlike the lazy human who clings fiercely to a generous hand, the geese were drawn in, but then drifted away to distant shores where life was hard, yet sweeter still than risking to the malicious child a twisted neck for scraps of bread. It had been said that nature is cruel; no, I thought, only people are cruel, for they alone can pervert that which by nature's intent was beneficial in moderation. Food, pleasure, death...man could leave nothing alone. I turned away from the geese, which were milling about and shifting their weight, first balancing on one leg, then the other, vigilant yet restful. I carried the tranquil image with me, and return to it still. Eyes focused through the glass of the car window, I stirred as Dad turned the key of the ignition and the car moved slowly forward. It was evening and the lake began to fade into an obscure haze; the hum of the engine gently brought my mind to the present and the distractions thereof. The darkness gradually melted away beneath the city lights, and I awoke to the startling realization that I was hungry. Under the glaring neon lights, one cannot long remain apart from the harshness of the city; neon lights invade one's senses and disrupt one's dreams. Saturday morning, after breakfast, we decided to find our way to a small town nearby that was holding a summer festival; once there we saw booths and tables housing various crafts or topics of interest, as well as food and drink. Weaving our way through the smiling, jovial faces, time slipped casually by. Mom purchased a rooster made entirely of dried seeds, while I inspected the tables of antiques. Nothing sparked my interest enough to pry into my wallet, so I quietly moved on. We decided to await the afternoon parade, in which Dr. B. of yesterday's consultation said he would appear, playing an instrument in the band. It was he who had informed us of the small town festival, and we could not help but wonder if we would recognize him in a red jacket and cap. The band members were seated in trucks; blowing earnestly into their instruments, the musicians eyes sparkled behind puffed up cheeks. It was no use; they all looked like perfect images of each other.