Garden Swing

I love to sail on waves of sky where breaths of clouds are rushing by, where tall trees toss their leafy heads way above the garden beds. I love to swing with the birds at dawn when sky cracks open and day is born, when hems of fur on the robes of night gently brush the morning light. I ride on a swing. I swoop and fly. I kick at falling leaves. I call to a magpie as she dips by, and feel the whoosh of the breeze.