In Search of Strawberry Fields

I set out at just before 4:00 p.m. to find Strawberry Fields, the area of Central Park named after the famous song "Strawberry Fields Forever" by John Lennon. I somehow passed the mythical place up, but found lots of enchantment along the way...

...

A winding path through a wooded area came out near a waterfall between a stone bridge and another bridge over a pond with willows weeping nearby.

The eerily beautiful song of some would-be goddess of the trees drifted from over the next hill. I curiously walked in the direction of the sad yet musical voice. I was stunned to come to a tunnel in the wood and find a young lady in a long, flowing dress walking around alone underneath, singing some sort of Siren-sounding song. I've heard a voice like that in the movies. Slightly operatic, slightly angelic, somewhere between beautiful and haunting, but closer to haunting. With a feignedly uninterested attitude, I walked past and seated myself on a rock, listening to her for several minutes.

I came across a vast lake in the very center of a city of 8 million people. In my mind, the skyscrapers above the trees at the water's edge faded from sight, and for a few seconds I was back in the South in some nondescript and hallowed tract of rural land.

I heard the sound of drums in the distance. Walking briskly, I came to a circle of spectators around an ensemble of world musicians with various percussion instruments jamming out. I then walked in the direction of some other strange sounds...

By a mighty fountain of dancing angels with cascading waters on their wings stood a lone man with a kilt playing the bagpipes. After listening to the wailing sound for a while I walked underneath a bridge and noted a man dressed in little but a loin cloth, dancing around burning incense, sing-screaming an eerie sound to the backdrop of violin trills...

The Mall. I read a plaque that explains the Park's construction began in 1858. I look around and see statues of various long-dead poets, including William Shakespeare and Robert Burns.

Because words often the best at failure, here are some pictures...