Rites of Spring
The Jardin des Plantes, a wealth of flowerbeds full of poppies with warped medallion shaped heads the colors of candies. Everything is in bloom, a pagan celebration of nature's fecundity and the desire which renews it, phoenix like, every spring always accompanied by the orchestral swell of horns and the timpani player who has waited sixty minutes to play his one part. Wringing his hands, Stravinsky stands in front of Dalloyau's and wonders whether it would be bad form to eat some pastries while sipping his Whisky Cambell. The change of seasons, the hows and whys, all secrets, are encoded in her kiss.