Summer Swings

Back lit by ever lightening summer skies, air rushes around me. Down I go, blue turning to green turning to grey. I face the earth before back up I go, grey to green to blue. Back and forth, back and forth.

They never looked like much, the swings cornered by nature's colours. Grand tall trees peep over dark brown wooden fences in a disapproving manner. I use to think they were the ones who put up the unnatural 'No ball games' sign. Yet when we sit on those rubber rectangles, attached to strong metal polls by twisting chains, we didn't care. The ultimate freedom in limited movement.

They are no longer there now. Just eight sad, grey flagstones surrounded by uncut grass.