The toy clown lay face down in the desert. When I turned him over he still had his fixed smile in place, even though he had been abandoned. He lay on his back, arms and legs spread out as though he wanted to make a snow angel. Or maybe he had given up his false, fun life and surrendered to death. Back to dust and nothingness.
It would be hard to leave him there alone. Still he continued to smile, the colour of his clothes bright, despite the sand settling on them. A baby bird's feather nestled in his hair. I wanted to kiss him alive and make his dark eyes dance again.
But I didn't.
Three weeks go by. I retrace my footprints in the sand and find him exactly the same.
I'm really pleased to see him again.
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