The Carousal

Summer-- kids licking
ice lollies run around at the fair.
The wood
beneath
their feet is being
blistered by the afternoon sun.
Families form a long, snake-like queue
to
The Carousal.
Its horses seem alive,prancing
merrily.
Long, flowing manes
whipping
their faces as
The Carousal
goes round
faster! and
faster!
You can
almost
see their muscles
rippling
throught their sweaty coat.
And when the ride finally comes to an
end
, the children, disappointed,
climb off their respective mounts
(awkwardly)
Leaving
the horses in their
sticky, sweaty, but
joyful! glory.
They wait obediently for the next batch of riders,
and for
The Carousal
to start up again once more.


Fall-- it is the
beginning
of their long wait.
The boisterous children,
frantic adults and
the summer sun
have long disappeared.
The leaves of nearby oak trees turn the
colour
of a well-lit fire.
Oranges, reds, yellows, and a hint of magenta dance with the wind.
A chilly autumn wind
s w e e p s
around the now deserted funfair,
causing the old caretaker
("Morning, Mr. Birch.")
to turn up the collar of his battered coat.
The many dead leaves scatter as
North Wind arrives, and as they make themselves scarce,
they make an unusual noise:
skritch. skritch. skritch.
The Carousal
is now frozen.
Their manes, muscles no longer flowing,
looking as if they were abruptly stopped in mid-trot
(which of course they were).


Winter-- people hurry past the
funfair, heads
bent
low. They pull their bowlers over their eyes,
and turn the necks of their coats
up against nippy North Wind.
The Carousal
is covered in a
big, white
blanket of snow[flakes].
The shiny bright eyes of the horses
peeking
out. The horses are freezing,
cold, cold, so cold...
Their paint cracks. It seems very much like
The End, but
the equastrians must endure.
The oaks are now bare,
looking like hands with gnarly fingers.
*shudders*
Reaching out...
And GRABBING!
A tiny nest,
wedged between three branches,
holds a robin,
killed by the cold.
It is lying on its side,
eyes wide open,
ice creeping along its body, like
ants
on a carcass.


Spring-- grass
begins to push out from the
melting
blanket of snow.
All the animals are aroused from their months of
hibernation.
The trees are covered in their
glossy clothes
again, and sparrow busy themselves
with the building of their nests.
And soon,
the sun is shining through a canopy of leaves,
a cloudless sky reflects off the surface of a
still
lake, and old couples walk hand-in-hand,
enjoying nature in a way nobody else can
'till their final years approach.
Mr. Birch, together with two "young 'uns",
stagger
under the weight of some cans of paint,
picked up from a nearny hardware store.
They get to work:
prying open the paint cans, and
dipping their
stiff
brushes into the creamy substance,
getting
The Carousal
ready for the upcoming opening of
the funfair.

This cycle is unique.
It starts at the end,
and ends at the
beginning.