Helicopters and planes buzzed overhead. Cars lined the streets while eager visitors climbed steep embankments to get a better look. By afternoon, hundreds of people picnicked, sat, slept, marvelled, posed or painted in the shade of the warm yellow parasols. And in watching the wonder on those faces, the tired but fulfilled gaze of the crew members, the busy but friendly merchants in the towns, I realized, for the first time, the true meaning of "special effects." T2 was a thrill you could sink your teeth into, but this was something you could surrender your soul to.

I visited the umbrellas on three different occasions, and planned on returning for another. But tragically, the project closed prematurely. The mews reported a sudden powerful gust of wind dislodged an umbrella, knocking a woman against some rocks and killing her. It makes no sense. No one can replace what her husband has lost. The years Christo devoted to testing the safety and strength of the umbrellas could not possibly predict nor prevent a fluke of nature such as this. It makes no sense that what uplifted and enraptured thousands of people should end in the loss of life.