The Swing

The
swing

is tied up
by the lake
in the shade of the
cypress tree.
It’s been waiting
all year for me.

Now the summer
has arrived, I untie
the rope, sit
on the wooden seat.

I push my feet
on the crumbling
ground, run
to gain speed and
suddenly I’m flying
throoooough
the air
for an eternity.

In that moment I taste
ice cold lemonade,
feel the sun on my back
it’s T shirt and shorts weather,
my bare feet scrape the bark
as I return to Earth.

Now another push,
this time I imagine
the ocean’s
wriggly
waves
smell pretzels on the beach
as I lie on my new blue towel.

I close my eyes again,
still dreaming to the rhythm
pretending I’m on a
safari adventure.
Lions, hyenas, elephants
on the shoreline.


I hold tighter and swing
back
and
forth,
as my eyes open
the cool water beckons
with rippled fingers.

I jump in,
the cotton clings
to my limbs, I swim
to the edge
ready for another go.

***

At home, on a
winter’s night,
I think of
the swing
and the warmth
it brings.