The Swing

Sun warm, breeze cool, skin getting tanner.

We approach a tall tree with a tire tied to it.

The rope cuts into our tiny hands,

Red and painful, back of my thighs

hurt from sitting on the rim.

Birds sing

Kittens meow

Cows stomping

their way to get milked.

The Bobcat machine loud in the barn

We swing higher

Revealing endless green rows of corn, the blue sky, the clouds

getting closer with each ascent.

We swing lower

The barn feels touchable

.I can smell Mom’s cooking through the kitchen window,

Always open during the summer. The smell of fresh-cut grass

Filled the air.

Soon Brother and I have to go inside.

Today, the tree is gone, just a stump.

My thoughts still swing back to childhood.