My last post recalling childhood memories of building shelters and hideaways took me back to my first home where we had a most wonderful and glorious swing made sturdy and strong by my father. It allowed us to swing really high way into the sky.
We were never afraid.
I would sit upon on it for what I recall as hours; it might have just seemed that long.
I’d swing high and low, and fast and slow. Other times I would simply stay solitary still in the warm happy sun, allowing the day’s breeze to sway me to and fro, my thoughts drifting to other places as my bare feet trailed in the dusty red earth, making circles round and round and round some more.
It was soothing and mesmerizing.
Quite a few of my recent works have included a child swinging from the sky.
Perhaps there is a longing for the comfort of those days and to be able as then, to swing high into the sky
