And on solstice mornings, with landwalker-entrancing song and candy darters, they would send me out to play and I would glide through the swaying kelp searching for news of the Seven Seas,
“The light,” my old friend responded. “I’m trying to capture the way light filters through the F-holes. Can you imagine? Standing next to the soundpost as a string is plucked or bowed. It must refract the light.”
Gentlebeings – and not so Gentlebeings – welcome to this year’s Rochambeau Rumble, where an intergalactic panel of players tries to win the ultimate game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.
