The old carousel stood still, silent and empty. Then four people around my age approached the carousel. They took pictures, and then, they walked through the gate, and climbed on the horses. I leaped off my bench and raced to the carousel. I hurried through the gate and climbed on a horse. The teens running the carousel smiled at me, but they didn't laugh. We five grey-hairs were the only ones on the old carousel as the music began and the horses slowly rose in the warm summer afternoon.
The horses galloped in their tight circle and the beautiful hills of my hometown twirled around me. I wished my mom and dad were mobile enough to join me on the carousel, or my children still with me, rosy-cheeked and laughing as they clutched the golden pole with one hand and bravely swung the other through the air. But I was alone, on the magical horse, remembering.