Pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse, one and two and three and four. Counter rhythms. Syncopation. Riffs of balanced/unbalanced beats booming from many percussion instruments. In a small plaza by the farmers market was a drum circle, 12 or 15 people beating it out. Most but not all were black. There was only one woman. Their faces looked unaware of each other, each in an individual reverie, but they played as an ensemble. I orbited the circle taking scores of pictures while most of the drummers ignored me. It was like finding a diamond on the sidewalk.
Tomorrow: Thursday Arch Series - And Now For Something Completely Different