The carousel spun. Its twinkling lights cast a warm glow on the round, cherub face of a little boy, squealing with delight with each rotation.

“Mommy, look at me! I’m flying,” the little boy yelled as he shot one arm out, allowing it to catch the wind. The carousel spun. The mother, a slight framed woman of 32 stood outside of the carousel’s bulbs of light and watched as her son’s face turned upwards toward the sky and smiled with the bliss only a child can attain. She stood away from the carousel, arms crossed, as the breeze blew wisps of her hair around her slight face. She longed to join her son and turn her face to the sky. She wanted to capture the bliss of childhood once again. The carousel slowed. The little boy scampered to his mother’s side and placed a hand, sticky from cotton candy, into hers.

“Mommy, I want to stay a kid forever,” the little boy exclaimed. With a melancholy nod of recognition, the mother turned away, turning her face up towards the sky. The difference was, she felt no magic. The carousel began to spin again.