Garishly painted horses dash up and down, round the carousel, maddened by mechanical pop songs from yesteryear. White horses canter in the sea, strangled by seaweed and stung by salt spray. No-one rides the carousel horses. No-one swims with the white horses in the sea. No-one is around to turn off the tinny music. The restless horses gallop endlessly in their own little worlds, waiting for the freak high tide that will bring them together.
Previously published on Paragraph Planet