Hula Hoops

Three plastic rings—one bright red, one silver, one neon green—lie abandoned in the dirt near the chalet entrance. Their edges are slightly scuffed, the plastic stiff from the autumn air. Young visitors had spun them around hips and waists earlier, but now they roll lazily in the breeze, their hollow clacks blending with Burton’s forced cheer. The hoops sit at odds with the chalet’s sparse furnishings, a fleeting trace of joy amid rules that promise order but deliver only detention.