Most of the tent is occupied by a huge globe that balances in the centre of raised platforms set up around it's perimeter. It produces its own light, glowing from within like a small sun. Tarnished silver staircases spiral are wound in a spiral rising up from the base, connecting platforms together. The landings are positioned perfectly so that one may treck one's fingers through the pelopenissian mountains, or her fingertips in the mangroves of New Zealand. Small children find it amusing to blow harsh winds across the Indian Ocean of into the Bay of Bengal, imagining the tidal waves crawling up shores like huge black mountains. The globe rotates slowly, and as it does, the light upon each region fades and flickers out like a dying candle so half of it looks like the dark side of the moon. Half the world is sleeping, and out of pretend courtesy many patrons only touch their fingers to the half of the globe in the light of day. Some wait for the countries to become vivid with light again, so they may see it more clearly. They miss the myrrh filled streets of Greece, the cold wet of Prague, the coffee in a little corner of Marrakesh grottoes. They watch the darkness fade, like children waiting for the sun to rise on Christmas morning, and unveil their missed places like presents.
Art by Call of Atlantis
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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