i have a miniature gilded circus in my room with brilliant blue and [gold] striped tents filled with graceful acrobats and juggling clowns and roaring lions all frozen in a moment in time.
i could spend hours marveling at the intricately painted ringmaster and grand ferris wheel but the best part of my circus is that it comes to life at night.
as the clock strikes twelve, something inexplicably magical occurs and tiny figurines that were lifeless only mere seconds ago suddenly spring into action.
all through the night, i watch as carousel horses in cream and [gold] and teal barely bigger than my palm gallop around my room and as the trapeze artists glide through the air and tightrope walkers balance on mere threads.
but at some point in the early hours of the day, i succumb to sleep and i awake in the morning to find that the circus performers have returned to their inanimate poses for a day, causing a surge of disappointment that can only be lightened by the fact that it will all happen again at midnight.