It wasn't one of those baby swings, with a back and leg holes, safe and sturdy; it was a real swing and he had no idea how to make it move.

"Move your legs," said Daddy. "Forward and back, just like that, forward and back."

It felt like the swing was starting to move. Not much rhythm, yet. The light grey sky didn't do much to encourage, and he looked back, hoping for a push like usual.

A few minutes later and he was soaring, smile as wide as the arc the swing made from apex to apex - velcro-laced shoes framed first by wood chips and then by the sky. Now... how to stop...


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Grady (joined almost 14 years ago)
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Writer and editor at a global public relations agency, living in Portland, OR

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