Last night the Black-haired Boy and I celebrated the second anniversary of our first date with a re-enactment–a voyage to Cirque du Soleil.
“Voyage” seems most apt as all the sailing metaphors kick in–sail away, swept away, transported …
I love the circus. You might already know that. What I don’t know–in words–is, why. But the thought of attending a circus makes me bubble up inside and I will clap and jiggle about with a very un-mitigated joy.
So I almost cannot stand myself right now–Cirque du Soleil’s “Corteo” last night, “Aurelia’s Oratorio” on Saturday, and the opening night of Circus Contraption’s “The Show To End All Shows” in just two weeks.
I so very much want my own circus tent, an undulating spiky-topped one with stripes, perhaps orange and crimson stripes. I am scheming to make my (humble, plain) laundryroom into an ode to circus. I’ve already hung both modern and vintage circus posters in there and am currently pondering how to drape the walls to give the sense of being inside a circus tent. I wonder if I will go so far as to strew artificial elephant poop about the floor?
Post a Comment