The Revolving Tour

Two days inside made the baseboards feel too familiar. I slipped past the gate and took the slow downhill walk to Central Avenue. Outside the gift shop, a rotating wire postcard rack rested low beside the stone threshold. A vintage card of the mountain trail hung crooked at the bottom tier. With a measured nudge of my shoe against the lowest wire spoke, I set the carousel turning. Cards blurred past in a dry metallic hum—pine ridges, brick bathhouses, white steam, and brick alleys cycling in a tidy loop. Three full rotations before friction took over. A complete tour of the valley without moving my boots. Plenty adequate.