On the drawing board of my dreams, an image of a large wagon on wooden spoked wheels materializes. At one end sits a man in colorful silk garments, pedaling energetically and holding a small silver hammer in each hand. The organ wagon stands in a city park in front of an audience of expectant children
The pedals drive a horizontal wire that moves in an endless loop towards the man. Below the wire billows the misty surface of a vat of liquid nitrogen. Above is a long row of brass faucets that drip onto the wire intermittently, controlled by metal arms that minutely adjust the faucet levers.
Each drop hitting the wire quickly freezes there to move forward and receive an additional drop or not from the next faucet. The predetermined quantity of water at each point soon creates a procession of icicles of various lengths approaching the end of the wagon.
When the first icicle reaches the man, he splinters it with a tap of a hammer. The long icicle shatters as a clear B, picked up by a microphone and amplified to the crowd. The icicle column that follows is swiftly smashed one by one to produce the crisp notes of "Danny Boy".
The melody ends to spectators cheers while the man prepares pulley-conveyed strings to lead a small puppet out onto the now stationary, tight wire. In tutu and cloth slippers the wooden doll balances above the perilous, frigid fog with an umbrella that also shields her from occasional drops.
With the girl safely on the other side, the puppeteer takes a slight bow before changing gears, pedaling with renewed energy and readying his hammers for a chilly Chopins "Nocturne" op.9 no.2.