the world's fair

We danced to the Tennessee Waltz . The New England Fiddlers Association supplied the rythm. We did our best, counting in threes, counting in threes, counting in threes, trying to copy the feet of the old timers, the ones who have danced to the Tennesse Waltz before.

One day, I said to my wife, our hips will move like theirs. One day, we will not move so awkward, so awkwardly.

The song ended. It always does. We walked past the concessions, the games, the beer garden. We saw familiar faces and those familiar faces saw ours. Sometimes we traded hellos. Sometimes we didn't.

We made our way to the bumper cars, but the line was too long.

I'm too old for this, I said to my wife. I'm too old for all of this waiting around.

We made our way to the pig race. We clapped and cheered. We laughed at the pigs running in circles. We laughed and we laughed.

By the time the race was over, it was dark. We made on last lap around the grounds, petting the oxen, touching the chickens. A stray goat almost took my wife out, but I pulled her arm before it was too late.

Close call, I said. That goat almost got you.

We made it to the car and out of the parking lot without any problems

It was a good fair, my wife said. One of the better ones I've been to.

I agreed, driving with my brights on, looking for deer, squinting.

You never know when you're going to run into a deer out here.