The red lines on the circus tents are blood red in the night, only made richer by the contrast of bone white lines. It's a warm night, but there's a breeze carrying a sweet smell and a lovely chill.

The sky is navy blue, as deep as the ocean and just as vast. The stars haven't come, probably never will. Better off, the darkness is more alive without light's cry for attention.

Vibrant green tree tops, shaking in the wind. Darker shades of blue tucked away in the corners, faint traces of purple in the air. The light is hidden away in the tents, fire and sparks and laughter.

It's empty on the rich dirt path, soft soil alive with bugs. Earth worms poke out from underneath the popcorn stand, the yellow letters like a muted sun.

I reach the peak of the road, the hill overlooking the whole scene. Dark without the light of the moon, but the colors glow against the looming shadows.

Like the darkness surrounding a Prima Donna in a spot light, only enhancing the beauty by darkening the stage. Just her, just the audience, just the colors.

With a sigh, and a wistful smile, I turn away from the tent and the trees and the lovely bugs clinging to night dew.

Tonight is brighter than any day could ever be.