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A quote: “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” ~~ Plato
I’ll start with a story.
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As a child I gripped the bar tight, convinced my wooden steed would seize any opportunity to escape. Only my fierce will, and my promises of treats, kept the horse on his best behavior.
Teenaged smugness had me dismissing the carousel among my friends. But when summer crowds returned to the city, I would slip alone up under the lights and whisper to my, MY horse to take me around.
My hair is white and my horse is fading. Fear has stopped his rounds where age and fashion never did.
I lean against him and whisper, “I am not afraid.”
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license
Donna Beriont says: 100 word challenge accepted:
Mysterious deep love descended on me with the birth of my first child and that intense feeling won’t let go. A new foreign light flew into my heart and embedded itself into my soul forever. Wisdom taps gently on my heart guiding me on this turbulent journey. Traversing this surreal landscape many years later still trying to comprehend how this love can produce immense suffering. I lean toward the light and want her to tiptoe confidently out of the miserable darkness into the land of hope and understanding. I yearn for love to be my pilot and attend to me.
Navig8r says: Gazing at the old carousel, he savored the memories as they came flooding back. A tear formed for the reality of peeling paint and tumbling, weathering parts that gazed back. But, he noted, there were still enough sound parts to work with. A vision began to form. It was a small community, but he still might be able to round up enough volunteers to do a restoration. Funding would be another matter. Since the interstate went through 12 miles to the north, visitor traffic to the museum hadn’t supported much of a maintenance budget. Well, one problem at a time.
P.S.
Anyone passing through central Nebraska, do stop in and see the Pioneer Village Museum at Minden.
Paris train station: I arrive from an overnight transport from London on my way to Rome to meet with my college mates. In the line that says “English spoken here” to purchase my ticket. At the counter, told ” don’t speak English. Look behind me, an angelic lady says “I can help you”. Speaks fluent French, purchases my ticket. Proceeds to ask my plans for the day as my train doesn’t leave until evening. We spend the day with her touring me through Paris. I end up meeting up with her in her hometown of Copenhagen. True story. Name? Mona Lisa.
cold pizza says: Joni Mitchell’s Circle Game was playing over the muzak as the elevator doors opened.
In the old days, there would have been flash bulbs from the waiting reporters instead of this mad pulse of faces, each holding up a recording device. Their shouted questions crashed like waves upon us.
The man we escorted shuffled slowly down the hallway, handcuffed and shackled. I gripped his right elbow, Agent Pfitzner held him on the left. I could feel the man buckling as we approached the chamber doors.
I knew then he was guilty, facing the truth of his actions. As would we all.
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