Watchful

Today the heavy burden of being a responsible adult living by many rules crushes my spirit. Even as a kid I was rule conscious. Use the cross walk. Wait an hour after lunch to swim. Don't eat meat on Friday. There were few times when I felt free.  Swimming in the swells of the salty ocean and riding the hand carved carousel at Old Orchard Beach. I always chose a colorful ornamental horse that moved up and down as I held tight so I wouldn't slip off the heavily varnished rump.  Pumping up and down to the haphazard caliope of percussive jingles, horns and bells. Lights. Mirrors.  The circular passage of independence with a quick glance toward the blur that was my mother waving with her eyes crinkled in the corners above a  toothy grin.  My hands gripped the pole as the horse moved in a gallop, my head tossed back  joyful. Around and around  absorbing the minute details.  My horse in a trot while others stood motionless-joyless. My mother's unspoken rules: Be adventurous, always ride a wild horse for I will remain near, if you need me. Watchful.