The Carousel of Life

Walking to the nearby plaza with my grandmother and riding on the carousel was such a special occasion. When the carousel came into view, I rushed toward it and my favorite horse, Daisy—a prancing white, wooden horse with an English style saddle sitting atop a purple, lavender, and green blanket decorated with gold bells along the bottom. I handed my quarter to the operator. “I want to ride Daisy, please.” He opened the gate and hoisted me on top of Daisy’s saddle. I sat still and waited until the carousel slowly turned, then gently faster. I felt like a princess atop Daisy as she strutted up and down. There was something almost magical about feeling the gentle breeze tousling my hair; watching the bobbing animals; and listening to the sound of the whistling carousel music. Reach for the brass ring!” the operator yelled as Daisy and I passed under the wooden arm suspended above the riders that released small grabbable rings. Most rings were iron, but one or two were made of brass, redeemable for a repeat carousel ride. I was never able to actually grab an iron ring, let alone a brass one. I simply didn’t have the necessary dexterity and timing. Nonetheless, I yearned for a brass ring and never gave up trying to grab one. Oh, how I wish I could circle back to those simple, effortless days—days that seemed to go on forever. But life, like a carousel, is constantly in motion making it impossible to return to those days. Ride, ride, ride the carousel. Reach for the brass ring. Never to finish but to begin again. Life is a circular thing.