The circus arrives without warning.
One day, the field next to your farm is empty. The next morning, there is a circus that looms over you, silent, leached of all color. Nothing to be seen but alternating swirls and stripes of black and white. The snap of the flags atop the oddly sized tents shakes you of your reverie, carrying the bite of the coming autumn. You walk around the wrought-iron fence towards the entrance, with an intricately calligraphed sign stating
"Opens at Nightfall; Closes at Dawn"
You hear the murmurs of your neighbors warily approaching while you stare at the work of art that seems to be so fantastic, it must be made of magic, for it cannot be a simple clock. As you peer inside, you catch the smell of caramel and popped corn, hot chocolate, and smoke. But as soon as you place it, it is gone.
You go back and do your chores half-mindedly; the day is dragging. At last, twilight approaches. You make your way back across the field. It starts to get uncomfortably dark as your eyes adjust to the last of the bleeding sky's light. You startle as you hear a pop, and the first burst of light is almost blinding in the darkness. You can pick up lines and curls, staring until you see
"Le Cirque des Rêves"
Your mother's tedious lessons in French finally paid off. You smile to yourself - it's the circus of dreams.
The squeak of the wrought-iron gates opening makes your heart race and your palms sweat with an anticipation you haven't felt since you were a child.
Now you may enter.