Spinning Panorama
By Stacy Garner
The merry-go-round
I am a merry-go-round. Not one of those fancy contraptions with the horses that move up and down, and pretty paintings and bright lights and an ice cream truck’s soundtrack. No, I have no motor and my paint job has seen better days, probably before you were born. The only music I make is the gentle squeak squeak of unbalanced weight, but I bet I’ve heard just as much laughter and seen as many smiles as that flashy carousel in Porter Park.
I sit in Park Street Park, two blocks south of Main Street. Walking by, most folks think my park is just somebody’s backyard until they see me. Who has a merry-go-round in their backyard? In fact, how many playgrounds still have merry-go-rounds at all?
It’s amazing how delighted folks are to see me. Dull, gray metal with pieces of red and teal paint jobs splashed here and there, like old tattoos from a rebellious past. No, folks don’t come to me for a smooth, dainty ride. They grip my handlebars and their feet pound the dirt faster and faster until I can feel them fighting to keep up with me. Strangely enough, as they jump on, their weight does not slow me down but intensifies our speed. The freedom, the dizzying thrill that comes from sharing those revolutions, is inexpressible.
I sit in Park Street Park, two blocks south of Main Street. Walking by, most folks think my park is just somebody’s backyard until they see me. Who has a merry-go-round in their backyard? In fact, how many playgrounds still have merry-go-rounds at all?
It’s amazing how delighted folks are to see me. Dull, gray metal with pieces of red and teal paint jobs splashed here and there, like old tattoos from a rebellious past. No, folks don’t come to me for a smooth, dainty ride. They grip my handlebars and their feet pound the dirt faster and faster until I can feel them fighting to keep up with me. Strangely enough, as they jump on, their weight does not slow me down but intensifies our speed. The freedom, the dizzying thrill that comes from sharing those revolutions, is inexpressible.
And so the world spins by
My thick, sturdy frame has withstood generations of eager children. I have turned, and turned, and turned in the small field of Park Street Park. Each revolution is created by separate moments and strung together into one delicious panorama. The same 360-degree scene runs constantly around me, but changes slightly with each passing. As I face east there’s a little girl begging her dad to give her one more spin. I face south, and a young couple sits on me, quietly flirting as we rotate. Facing west, the leaves have turned colors and the boys are climbing off to play football. Looking north, I see snow falling and find myself giving a snowman a ride. The scenery is deliciously unpredictable and wonderfully constant.
One by one each ride ends, but I keep spinning. The people, both young and old, walk away and probably never give me another thought. But oh, I remember them. Years go by, and just as they once struggled to keep speed with me, I find myself struggling to keep up with the city swirling around me.
One by one each ride ends, but I keep spinning. The people, both young and old, walk away and probably never give me another thought. But oh, I remember them. Years go by, and just as they once struggled to keep speed with me, I find myself struggling to keep up with the city swirling around me.
