Matamoras, PA. 80 miles. Grass. Overcast.
Two blown trailer tires on Rt 209 through the Catskills this morning, giving me a full hour to wonder at the miles I've driven since Texas. Late on the lot, but still time to drive back to Walden, NY to visit the Big Apple Circus quarters. BAC quarters was everything that Disneyland promised to be when I was a child. A magic factory. Oceans separate a mudshow like ours and BAC set up at incoln Center. But the commonalities are greater than the differences. The commonalities in circus weave the strands of childhood wonder, fine threads in a luster of hues into the fabric of the mat, real or imagined that marks the center of each and every ring. In those rings, on every show, ideally, fantasy is born. Some days it's hard to marvel at fantasy, contemplating a blown tire. But after the mechanics ride to rescue, and when the tent is pitched on a green lot, then I remember that it's always there. Or at least I hope I do.
Two blown trailer tires on Rt 209 through the Catskills this morning, giving me a full hour to wonder at the miles I've driven since Texas. Late on the lot, but still time to drive back to Walden, NY to visit the Big Apple Circus quarters. BAC quarters was everything that Disneyland promised to be when I was a child. A magic factory. Oceans separate a mudshow like ours and BAC set up at incoln Center. But the commonalities are greater than the differences. The commonalities in circus weave the strands of childhood wonder, fine threads in a luster of hues into the fabric of the mat, real or imagined that marks the center of each and every ring. In those rings, on every show, ideally, fantasy is born. Some days it's hard to marvel at fantasy, contemplating a blown tire. But after the mechanics ride to rescue, and when the tent is pitched on a green lot, then I remember that it's always there. Or at least I hope I do.
