Clown - part one

The same circus, the same entrance. A huge tent with five peaks. The one in the middle is the biggest, almost touching the clouds, with a small flag waving at the top. Around it stand four smaller peaks, as if they were protecting it. The whole tent is made of thick red fabric, decorated with blue and yellow patterns — dots and lines. On the sides there are big, eye-catching drawings: painted clowns, lions, and horses. You can see it from miles away, impossible to look anywhere else when you’re near. It attracts hundreds of people every moment.

The entrance is closed. It makes you wait. It shines and sparkles, calling people with its bright colors. The sunlight touches the red fabric softly, making it look even more vivid, almost alive. You could almost hear the horses neighing, the elephants trumpeting, the acrobats’ equipment clinking, and the joyful laughter of children. I can almost see the arena, the show. I’m almost inside. Only a few more steps to the tent, to the entrance.

I push through the crowd as fast as I can, weaving between people to be the first — the very first — to step inside. The closer I get, the more clearly I see the tent’s towers and flag, and the stronger my excitement grows. I feel it: my dream is about to come true.

Finally, I reach the door. Smiling from ear to ear, I stand in front of it. It’s not really a door, but a big opening in the tent, decorated just like the rest. My heart is racing, my whole body tingling. For a moment, I even forget to breathe. My eyes shine. I don’t see or hear anyone else — just me and the circus. It’s a moment I’ll never forget, one I’ll remember for the rest of my life. One day I’ll bring my children and grandchildren here, and tell them about this day. They’ll love this place just as much as I do. It will be like a second home. Isn’t that wonderful?

Speaking of home — I look around and take a deep breath. I study my surroundings carefully. But I can hardly see above the heads of the people. I stretch my neck like a giraffe, stand on tiptoes like a ballerina, and squint my eyes. The buildings, trees, benches, roads — everything looks familiar. Everything is in its place. Except for one thing: my house is gone. The circus stands where it used to be.

 To be continued...

Herki Hanna IX. H