Clip One

Morbid fascination is what draws him out at night, past the village wall. Stepping with careful trepidation, his eyes dart nervously about. All is fine for the moment--until a tiny crack disrupts the nervous silence. He's stepped on a twig and it seems louder than the roar of a cannon on a moonless night and surely someone will wake. But no one does. Heartened by this success, he ventures further, with less care and more speed, blending into the darkness like an owl melting into the trees.

Clip Two

Even shrouded in the mists, they could not remain hidden. Her parents found them embracing, his pale hair like moonlight against her night-dark locks. They pulled her from him, despite her wild weeeping at this, and left him, lying spectral and bemused, under the linden tree standing guard over them.

Clip Three

Jumping, running, skipping, leaping, they came. The children of the forest, with their ragged clothing and dirty pale faces and uncombed blond hair, were the shame of the aream as far as the adults were concerned. The little imps brought joy to their peers, though; all they touched was a game.

Clip Four

They've gathered with all they have, at the dawn of a blinding summer day. In a muddy field, glistening from the morning dew, the VW vans are parked in a giant circle, with tents and campfires (or the remnants of them) interspersed within that ring. The people wake to the pipe and drum of their leaders and to the sight of a psychedelic sunrise. Out they pour, unwashed, unshaved, and peaceful.

Clip Five

Of course, it was a dance as dull as the powder on the men's wigs. Uncomfortable, stiff, and stilted, with only one redeeming factor: the surroundings. Couples minced about the dance floor of an alabaster ballroom trimmed with gold. Between the many arching doorways, colourful brocades hung. The repetitive music suited the mood.

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