Our path is an unbroken line of black amidst forest into field, made blacker by the wet of the sunshower. Beyond the shining fields and dollhouses, a gleaming temple stands against a horizon of mighty sun-washed mountains. Patter pat pat pat on our rainbow umbrella, a sound like beads bouncing off tight parachute polyester. The colors swirling above our heads like a big and bright hot air balloon as we sail between the meadow-grain-grasses perfuming the air with an overpowering scent of honeyed cinnamon oatmeal.