The circus, if ever seen from above, is a striking crescent moon. The cirque is a myriad of tents, wagons and platforms, curving around a line of human statues. There is no pattern to the tents or that paths that wind around. Those that have no tents or caravans perform where they can on black and silver platforms.
In the cradle of the crescent is a mirror, a curling gilded silver frame tilted toward the moon, reflecting back its full image so the glass plane appears filled with liquid silver.
The gate that surrounds Cirque de la Lune is nacreous, a stretch of swirling bars erected in black dirt and guilded with silver.
Being inside the circus, it has a labyrinthine quality. Each path has numerous turns, numerous ends and sights to be seen. Patrons that seemed lost simply follow the path in circle, emerging in the cradle of the crescent once more, and make their way to vendors selling tea, hot chocolate, cider and sugary pastries.
It is too delightful to be real. Yet the smell of autumn leaves, wind chimes, and dark musk is wistful and strong.
It is beyond a dream.
Art and text by Lucie MacAulay
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