Swing

To celebrate I went for a walk in the park and called my grandparents (rather than wait for them to call at a less opportune time). Ended up sitting in a swing.

It'd been criminally long since my feet kissed the sky and my head reached for the ground. (Please ignore the dipping I've done at dances.)

~~~

The Swing

By Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing,

Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,

Till I can see so wide,

Rivers and trees and cattle and all

Over the countryside—

Till I look down on the garden green,

Down on the roof so brown—

Up in the air I go flying again,

Up in the air and down!

~~~

When we moved before tenth grade I was devastated. I'd settled into ninth grade. I had my friends. I had good courses. And, even though the rest of my family was miserable, I'd been happy.

But at the new house, the church playground was practically in our backyard. The first night there, I went out to the swingset. Back and forth. Imagining my new life. Until the rainbow appeared on one side of the sky and the clouds were dipped in gold on the other side.

~~~

Walking back from church sophomore year of college, we would stop by the playground across from my house. I don't think I've seen the pictures my friend took then. But whether kicking the leaves, leaving traces in the snow, or weaving through flowers, I felt as comfortable with his camera then as I ever have. Less self-conscious. More self.

~~~

First year teaching, the swingset was a longer trek. We'd stop by on our way to wander on the woodland path near the town with the decent sized grocery store. The swings were part of our meditation. Remembering the schools we attended. Connecting them to where we taught. Wondering about the chasm between.

~~~

As I watched my feet today, I flash through other swings they've been on. Give them up to the sky. Throw my head as long as I am able. Feel the world rush by.