A Tree, a Clown and an Healthy Desire

This afternoon he was sitting in a tree. Whatever.
He saw her walking through the crowd at the fair. The skyline was filled with points of canvas that the wind barely moved, even as it shook leaves from the trees. That sharp pain of the coming winter biled up as a meloncholic burp of desire. He pulled up his collar and waded into the people, glimpsing the hat she wore only sporadically. The flow of the crowd took him past a clown blowing up balloons for children, the dart booth-mini-archers aiming for an apple on some kid's head-past the pie eating contest and into the main barn that smelled of fresh hay and cow shit. And now he was in a tree, looking at his dangling feet and, past them, the small crowd of angry merchants and carnies. The knees of his pants were stained and he feared his shirt was ruined. He stayed there until the Sheriff came and assured his safety if he came down. He lost a shoe as he slid backwards down the trunk, the pitted bark tearing at his hands and causing one to bleed. He wasn't exactly safe with the sheriff but he was better off than with the crowd. The fun a boy can get into in one afternoon. But he never forgot her.