He enjoyed the swings, but then seemed uncertain, so until the roundabout gathered speed, I paced alongside the undulating red and silver horse.
The second time around I saw his expression relaxing from angst to delight.
And the next time I looked he was chatting confidently with the pretty little girl on an adjacent unicorn.
“More,” he pleaded, when the ride stopped. “More!”
So he joined a group of older boys on a row of gleaming Harley-Davidsons.
Reassured, I took my eye off the ball, and then he’d gone.
It’s not true what they say… about swings and roundabouts…
Friday Fictioneers gathering after her retirement in 2015. How time flies, as does my muse from time to time. 😦A re-run, from Rochelle’s first