The fun fair

Sometimes it is the International Student Center. Saturday it was the world. For hours we wandered around, came and left and came back again. Or just looked in wistfully as we hurried to other places. Inside the high walls we found a kaleidoscope of color and language. Voices and faces. Magic reflected in a balloon. Thin and flaky countries. Rich and buttery countries. Somewhere mixed in with the fire-smell of sausages, the Armenian girl's long veil, the proud colors of an African cloth--somewhere there is what we really are. Taste something strange and sweet and wonder. Or smile from the warmth of an inherited identity. And still wonder.