The Wheel Waits for Spring

One last climb over the city gave one view of the whole week: the harbor and its raised arm behind her, the bridge strung between its towers, the green shape of the park, and at the far edge, where the land runs out into the ocean, a giant wheel standing still against the sky.

The wheel was built right on the beach in nineteen twenty, forged from steel, and has never been moved since. It still turns today, with some cars swinging free and some fixed in place, as on its first day. Most of the rides around it had already gone quiet for the season, closed and waiting for spring.

Down at street level, a small stand still sold hot dogs. A young couple started the business almost a hundred years ago with their savings, charging five cents each, half the price of a bigger stand nearby. This stand never closes for the season.

Polly landed on the empty boardwalk rail as the light dropped low over the water. Gulls walked the beach where crowds had been only weeks before. The wheel turned once more behind her, and she flew out low over the waves.