circus artists in the desert

I'm standing in the middle of a wasteland filled with concrete ruins under the nuclear sun in one corner of a massive stone plate, inside a circular hole. i'm juggling with one stone to whistle sounds, a strange hat on my head, he's playing a fife, hitting his boot to the beat. standing in front of me in the circular hole of the stone plate. the sun is shining on our head and making everything so light and devoid and hot. wind and silence and the fife, the stone making circles in my hand and air.