"The Carousel"
Brightly painted horses prance
On poles made out of brass
The jumpers and the standers
With their eyes made out of glass
A blur of colored horses
As the carousel gains speed
As little girls and boys sit tall
Upon their wooden steed
A blur of colored horses
As the carousel gains speed
As little girls and boys sit tall
Upon their wooden steed
There is something so bittersweet about carousel rides. The joys of living in that moment, all the smells and lights and smiles, mix with flashbacks. You seems to spin back through your childhood as you bob up and down... up and down, up and down, on the horse that you eyed and picked out as yours while you were still in line. You can remember the time your grandma treated you to a ride on the carousel in the middle of the mall when you were 6 and when the same grandma pulled you into the carousel line at Disney World over a decade later. Or the time when you and your friends were the only teenagers in line for the carousel ride, because you were all getting ready to graduate high school and you were feeling especially sentimental. And you try to live solely in the moment and soak in the now, but it just seems notably more difficult while spinning, carefree yet contemplative, on a carousel.
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