OBOE

An O is suspended in the dusk behind the eyelids. There is room for an entire city district. It is not like a mirror, nor like a kind of lens, the city does really exist. There is space enough for it. There we see the houses, where people live together, sleep, make love, there we see the children playing. Those tiny green parentheses - what can they be? Probably thicket and shrubbery. And all that white? Can it be winter now? Maybe it's just open ground.

A smaller o is connected to the big one. It contains nothing. The silent, empty corridor between them is dimly lit up like by a row of large diffuse windows towards a distant sunset. From some site somewhere just round about here the constant activity of soundless elevator machinery deprives the transitory awareness about it's existence of all it's gravitation.

Then follows quiet organ music.