I could just make out the rotating horses, hear them; braying in the fire, leaping above an abusive smoke.

It seemed that despite the ever loosening grip on their painted reigns, the deafening funfair did not cease to roar upon it, with hellish flames.

Accompanied then by sounds of yesterday’s children, I witnessed the horses escape to the fields of evergreen.

I and them, together, they then turned and shared my shock of a fairground fire; hungry for what remained of their vintage carousel.