The Swing Set

Revisiting the park of my childhood, I envision myself and my sisters. We are laughing and shouting, running this way and that. “Let’s go on the swing set,” I say. We each grab a swing, and as if in a contest, we begin to pump our legs, pushing ourselves backward, then leaning forward and up! We’re giggling birds, and our lean little legs are wings taking us higher and higher to the sky. No limit is there on our time! It’s summer, and like birds, we are free. At times we get lost in our own quiet thoughts - I revel in the mere pleasure of hearing and feeling the wind in my hair as I swing and I swing till I tire of it. Boldly then, I take a wild leap forward straight out of my seat right as the swing has reached its highest peak! Agilely I land on my two feet, no worries about a bad back, sore neck or aging knees. I’m oozing with audaciousness in the spring of my youth, and I have nothing to fear. Reality hits me. The whoops of running children no longer are heard. The park is deserted. The kids of today are likely elsewhere texting on cell phones! In the quiet, I hear all of a sudden the croon of a bird. It’s calling to me, “Go to the swing set.” I walk to a swing and sit down. Like riding a bike, it always comes back. I’m older now, but the child inside me is winging. Just for a moment, I feel so alive. Then a quesiness grasps at my stomach. I let the swing slow to a stop. The swing set is creaking along with my bones - bones that dare not take a leap mid-air just to leave this swinging chair! No sisters are with me. Spring is long gone. I stand in the gloaming of the season . . . and the bird – why has it stopped its sweet song? Sorry it's not a new one but it's one of mine that never got many reads: For Silent One's That was Then, This is Now contest