A vast army has been trucked in to plant trees along the moat. Lunching on steamed bread and soup, they politely watch willowy women that might be wives in another light. At the ancient observatory I remember everything I wanted to be, an inventor, so advanced at age ten my work is already forgotten. Welded into position, the armillary sphere marks four students talking in the park, and more soldiers planting trees along the highway, directing hidden slogans in horse drawn traffic. A greasy fax in a dark room, whispers.
More soldiers arrive everywhere.
How a country fills its time with fear to save itself.