Firenze and Aurora 

The courtyard was opulent with the abundance of red peonies and luxurious peacocks. Pomegranates beckoned  from the tall bushes. Firenze came sneaking from behind the stately rosemary hedges, in his haste disturbing  the idle peace of the peacocks sending them to whirl off trailing their tails gracefully. 

“Aurora,”

 No answer.

“Aurora,”

No answer, yet beaming Firenze called on. 

“Who is it?,” replied in coquetry, the lovely Aurora. 

“Who but your one and only, your faithful Firenze? I've brought you something, come down my love,”

Fragrant and blooming the spring air of the mediterranean rose, promising to the gentle lovers sonnets and divertissements. Aurora leapt from the doorway onto the tender green grass. She wore a pale blue dress and her long red hair flowed in cascades as she embraced her lover. 

“These are to crown your hair, the lovely lavender and the pale jonquil.”  Placing the braided coronet on her, Aurora beamed. 

“Now you truly look like a queen.” Firenze looked at her and contemplated his love.

“I'll only be queen if you are my king,” she answered smiling.

“To call you my queen I would be a pauper, a troubadour if it meant looking at you.” A peacock composed and poised strolled past the lovers. 

“Firenze, You make me blush.”

“Kiss me, you look like the rosy dawn.”

Away the rosy lovers ran. Into the fields where the meadowsweet, lavender and chicory meet. Firenze had golden leonine hair, as golden as the wheat, as shining as the sun. He took longer strides than Aurora, but Aurora seemed to fly. Her pale blue gown was simple and covered her ankles. She ran barefoot, laughing behind her lover. She could have been easily mistaken for an alate being; one who in antiquity would have inhabited a glade, perhaps as a sylph. Her beauty was that of lavenders, of irises and jonquils. 

“Lay here with me.” She stopped running and outstretched her arms, feeling the fragrant breeze. 

“Why? This isn't near the place we usually meet.” The sun illuminated his face.

“Nevermind the usual place, the sun in the meadow is sweet, the groves are for pensive days.” 

The lovers reposed on the grass feeling hypnotized, letting the day advance as it flowed past. The clouds would have provided ample entertainment, but they found each other's eyes more captivating. In Aurora's, a clear sphere of blue topaz was seen. Her eyes gave images of fluttering skies in which the birds created new songs. Days like these in which lovers spend the day on glades and hays. Firenze’s eyes were fierce. brown and gold, it was  honey poured over wooden floors. 

The grass that the lovers reposed on was tender and fragrant with spring life. In all the world ancient or new, there would be no equating the spring floral jewels. Multitudes of flowers were found, scintillating the grass in offerings of the softest petals. Gentians adorned the grass in hues of blue. The papaver poppies shone with an undying red. And the jonquils so yellow and elegant. The lovers spilled kisses, softer even than the primulas. A most glorious sun reigned emperor and painted every blade and petal gold. The world was a painting of Titian hues, and every sigh was an orphic cue. 

“Below this meadow there's bosquet of orange and lime, where we can make love,” Aurora said with a smile, and began to run towards the west. 

“My Euridice I would follow you to the palace of death!” Firenze ran after. Her pale blue dress wavering in the gold of the day.  They ran sending into flight the butterflies that enjoyed the delight of nectar. 

In the dappled light of the bosquet the lovers made love. They stretched on the fragrant grove’s floor. Above them the citronniers and orangers twisted into euphoric forms, and with their green canopies sheltered the lovers on the floor. The aroma was made of gold. A sweet melody of olfactory harmony was composed in the meadows and rolled onto the arbors. In the fruiting arbors , the melody was enchanting, the perfume wasn't sweetly thick but rather orphic and cordate. Every suspiration taken was a diaphanous fold of rejoice. 

That day a carnival came to the fragrant town. A grand tent rose in a majestic silhouette, colored in an alternating pattern of the most vibrant shades of yellow and red. The excitement of the many spectacles radiated through the countryside; and it was not a surprise when the faithful lovers made their appearance at the grand circus tent. Regular chatter claimed that the circus possessed an elephant. Firenze and Aurora followed the queue of people to the beast’s tent. The beast was held in a covered tent in similar fashion to the grand tent of the circus. The beast of ivory was in fact no more than a saturnine old pachyderm. His limited steps were heavy and his gaze kept low. Perhaps at one point it would have been apt to call him a beast, but this docile giant did little more than gaze at the floor. 

“He must have been majestic,” whispered Aurora in a pitiful way. 

“I suppose every great thing must waste away.” 

In the festival there was a mantic woman who for a dime would read your fortune. Firenze and Aurora entered the tent with their jovial air. Instantly the serpentine incense curls became disturbed. The tent was sapphire blue. Madame Undine appeared with a white cat in her arms. She wore a copper colored headscarf, and thick rings adorned her round fingers. 

“Come for a reading? Take a seat my dear,” A kettle began to boil and she attended to it. Leaving Firenze and Aurora to see the mystics marquee. The incense was so thick that despite the multitude of candles the tent reamined dim. She came back softly and noiselessly. Madame Undine motioned to a table, a deck of cards lay fanned out over a lace clothes piece. 

“Pick three cards my dear.”

Aurora picked three randomly, when Madame Undine revealed the archaic images she leaned in closer as if wanting to hear Madame Undine’s thoughts. She could smell her herbal tea, chamomile.

“What do they mean,” she asked, staring intently at the images. The first card showed a man venturing mid gait, with his eyes elevated high. The second card portrayed two figures, a man and woman in nude standing below the omnipotent presence of a winged being who radiated light. The last card showed a tower on fire, collapsing and burning. A woman was falling from the tower and a crown was buried in the rubble of the falling tower. 

“The fool, your past. A representation of naivete, new endeavors and confidence. The lovers, that represents your present.” Her eyes flicked rapidly to Firenze who stood protective over Aurora. Firenze kept analysing the oddities of the room, the multitude of crystals, and hanging ornaments of the tent. 

“The tower,” she paused and licked her lips, “Destruction and great change, My dear, expect nefarity.” 

Aurora turned pale, Firenze noticed and embraced her. He took out a dime and paid the sybilline Madame.

“I'm afraid I’m not finished.” She cupped Firenze’s hand, never allowing the dime to leave his hand. 

“Accept the dime Madam, I’m afraid it's prudent to leave,” He began with Aurora to the opening of the blue tent, once more disrupting the opulent flourishes and coils of incense. 

“A fortune cannot be left unread, it is better to comprehend than leaving to suspense,” she cocked her head to the right. “Since you are already up, be my hands and carry over my mantic sphere. It is yonder, beneath the white silk cloth.”

The mantic sphere was vitric and opalescent, margaritaceous in places, very faintly reflective. It was held in place from rolling by a three legged stand of polished copper. Madame Undine shifted and adjusted her blue shawl. She leaned in closer and held her hands over the milky orb, barely hovering above the polished surface. She seemed to fully concentrate swaying from side to side as if a pendulum swung from within her. 

“Just as the dawn dies, light ends at twilight,” the old woman said whispering. 

Firenze and Aurora kept completely silent, but their eyes were sagittate, piercing the scene the way one does in a dream to assure one is truly in sleep. 

“You live outside of Grasse; make sure to get home before twilight.” She looked at the long carpet on the floor. Firenze and Aurora walked to the tent door, the sun blinded them a welcome return and Firenze held Aurora closer as they continued the tour.

Night descended, yet the tents held the color of the day late into the night. Illuminated by dozens of kerosene lamps. The grand circus tent was lofty, on the inside two main poles kept the tent soaring. Wreathing the canvas walls were rows of stands. A small orchestra played in a corner, composed of a celesta, two trumpets and an accordion. Their music weaving  with the palaver of the crowd, making a full tapestry of sound.. 

The acrobats took to the sky. Daring to reach the high canvas of the tent and capturing the audience with their daring leaps. Their flexible limber bodies seemed to be a testament to faithfulness and agility. 

Somewhere in the course of the night the fates decided it apt to create pure demise. As the slow paced pachyderm was  made to wait before appearing  into the tent he carelessly swung his pendulating trunk to play with a ball. The cheers of the acrobats continued, as the agile ones collected the coins the satisfied audience had tossed. The pachyderm tossed the ball in his indifference. The ball that was tossed  set off a chain of events that made the night illuminate with fright. The ball rolled, coming to an abrupt end when it collided with a crate. This crate shook with the impact and tumbled to its side. The crate however served as pedestal to a kerosene lantern, which upon being knocked down easily the flame was welcomed by the cover of dry hay that served as substrate for the tent. And so the fire commenced. The cheering for the acrobats finally subsided. A trumpet flourish announced the arrival of the weary pachyderm as he entered the tent accompanied by the trotting of rowdy zebras. The people cheered once more. 

The flames quickly spread from the cradle of hay, to the more subsistent canvas cloths that draped the tent. The flames  had a voracious appetite. Insatiable they plundered and licked against each other, swirling up and through like snakes. It was the orchestra that noticed the smoke first. 

“Fire!” yelled a trumpeter.

The smoke began to rise into the apex of the tent, thick and black. By now the flames had torn through gaping holes which spit out flames onto the tent interior. A great pandemonium ensued as people rushed to escape the burning tent. Great waves of people trampled the once soft hay. The main poles pendulated violently as the tent disintegrated . Amidst the great cacophony the exasperated cry of an elephant was heard; a loud declaratory farewell. The fire had expanded to the treselling of the stands,  devouring them with vulpine greed. The stands were collapsing into a well developed flame and it was in this manner that Firenze and Aurora became severed. The wooden plank on which Aurora stepped was rufescent with flame, and down it came, collapsing to a stronger flame. From the outside the flames had risen far above the tent. Stabbing the fabric of the night sky with a coruscating blade. 

“Aurora!”

 No answer. 

“Aurora!” 

No answer.

“Aurora!” 

No answer.

Firenze ran contrary to the popular flow, in his search for his dawn of rosy hue. Pieces of the once colorful canvas rained down aflame terrifying the fleeing men. Firenze was fierce and leonine. Piercing the heat and flames to find his lover, disregarding his own fate. 

“How cruel this destiny!” His face was contorted and burned. No tears could flow, Firenze the poor soul. The soot has covered the meadow flowers gray, and the aroma of the day became decayed. He fell to his knees. The sky was veiled by clouds of ash, so that no star could see the heartache.

 Very little survived the flames, in the wreckage lay splinters of charred wood, the remnants of the majestic poles that had held the colorful tent. beneath a sepulchre of splinters lay Aurora’s flower crown. Burnt and charred the petals of lavender and pale jonquil.