A forest of black-and-white: as most remember it by. A plethora of colorless tents, dotted with silver lights, dancing and twirling, and weaving in and out of tents, looping the grounds in a symphony of lights. Tents striped in all shapes and sizes, clustered in small circles, save for one. At the far edge of the circular grounds, it stands unlit, and surrounded by no lights. But as the folds of the tent flutter in the wind, silvery strands provide illumination from the bottom, the tent appearing one moment, and then vanishing into the darkness the next. Magical.