Besides being sited amid a beautiful setting with a view of the stage and the sound of rushing water, the spring also remains a constant 106.7 degrees Fahrenheit because the staff is always checking the temperature and adjusting the amount of water entering the spring.
The clouds sporadically open up a bit to reveal a village, a chunk of a mountain, a patch of jungle, before obscuring them from view again, like stage scenery sliding into the wings.
It's hard to tell in the reddish darkness of the Apple Barrel, a cluttered jazz bar on Frenchmen Street, especially when a drunkard wobbles by, momentarily blocking the view of the tiny stage.