Minnesota State Fair Poem: Ye Old Mill

Ye Old Mill ride
Ye Old Mill ride at the Minnesota State Fair.
MPR Photo/Ochen Kaylan

Ye Old Mill

by Leslie Ball

This morning, we ride Ye Old Mill.

Water tinted unnatural blue

Churned frothy white by a yellow paddle wheel.

Bright red wooden boats float in and out of the tunnel.

In an instant, we're pulled into the pitch.

Fairground noise fades into the background

Replaced by the whisper of

water lapping at the boat.

It's so still, I wonder if we're actually moving.

Are we floating in place?

I'm happy to be lost in liquid time.

I want to spend the morning in the inky black of solace and silence.

We're peas in a pod soaking up the dank dark.

A slight breeze in my hair tells me we're moving after all.

Boat scrapes as canal turns.

Glimpses of dioramas punctuate the journey,

Bambi under a ribbon

garlands Seven Dwarfs cavorting in the forest.

Then, too soon, I hear the noise of the outside world encroaching up ahead.

Too soon we grind up the conveyer to disembark.

I'm sorry to step out of this timeless womb.

Back on to solid concrete, clocks and calendars.

Wouldn't every single one of us benefit from a daily dose of Ye Old Mill?

Floating in gentle peace and quiet,

Sitting side by side

Inside the tunnel of love.