Moving from left to left, the light is heavy on the Dome, and coarse. One small lunette turns it aside and blankly stares off to the side like a big white old wall-eyed horse. On the east steps the Air Force Band in uniforms of Air Force blue is playing hard and loud, but - queer - the music doesn't quite come through. It comes in snatches, dim then keen, then mute, and yet there is no breeze. The giant trees stand in between. I think the trees must intervene, catching the music in their leaves like gold-dust, till each big leaf sags. Unceasingly the little flags feed their limp stripes into the air, and the band's efforts vanish there. Great shades, edge over, give the music room. The gathered brasses want to bo boom - boom.