Grazing alpacas, calling peacocks and retired horses, plus people dancing, playing and singing, all chorally linked to form a strangely harmonious soundscape between the paddock and the temple of the muses. In the temple, Max is tinkering with oversized illuminated letters on the stage, Sebastian is pushing needle and thread through the fine white costume in front of the control tower, Ludwig is sitting in the back rows of chairs, observing with his sick dog, the choir and soloists are getting themselves going by dancing the Charleston – Günther sets the steps and Sturm shakes his head rhythmically, Georg swings along on his laptop, Johanna takes the shrill photos and Michael ceremoniously performs his duties and everyone’s performances. Lasse keeps an overview and Cornelia outshines everything with her grounded rhythm in sunny calm. “A day like gold” – that’s how Immling ticked on rehearsal days, that’s how it was on the green hill in Chiemgau.