It sits there still

A sturdy board strung from a thick, rusty cable

Swinging gently in the breeze

And I think,

Something’s changed.

Once, longer ago than I can believe

I would walk slowly through the woods

Afraid of snakes and electric fences –

But it would be worth it

When I saw the swing.

Naught but a weathered board hanging invitingly

From an already-rusting cable

But I loved it

For on it, I could fly.

I’d soar above the scrub

And watched the land drop away below

As I flew higher

As the hill sloped lower.

Sometimes I’d close my eyes

And imagine just for a moment

That I was flying through these trees

Watching the ground drop away below

As I’d seen it do so many times before.

Now as I run freely through the woods

(It’s too cold for snakes

And the electric fence that blocked my path is no more)

I think of that time

When the swing swung over the hill

When I could fly.

Now I come in view of the contraption

And think at first,

Wasn’t it higher?

What has happened to my forest

That once seemed to be primeval

What has happened to my fairyland

And where have all these problems come from?

Dazed, I sit upon the board

That is the only seat the swing can call its own

And deftly kick around the tree

For no longer will it soar above the scrub –

The tree is old, and beaten, and defeated

And the cable that once stood so proud and long and tall

Has slid to the very side of the tree

So that there is no room to fly.

Was it always this way?

I wonder as I put out a hand to halt a collision with the gnarled old tree

Was the road always so close?

Was the swing never free-soaring?

With a pang, I remember the thrill of the flight

And know that those days are gone forever

And can never be reclaimed.

But now the swing is my haven

My place of thought, my sanctuary

I go there to think

For there is much thinking to do.

Friends who no longer call me friend

Troubles in my family

That leave me bewildered and unsure

Growing up in this hard, relentless world

That’s enough to make anyone falter.

The darkness falls around me like a blanket as I sit

Kicking easily around the tree.

I sigh and know that soon they’ll call me

In, back in to the light and warmth of the house.

The wind has picked up, too

And it’s blowing through my sweater

Which now seems ridiculously thin against the chilly mountain wind.

Slowly I allow myself to stop

And disentagle myself from the swing

And begin the short walk back up the hill

Through the rampant, choking vines that cover the forest floor

Back to the warmth,

The light,

And the uncertainty, the nagging feeling that I don’t belong.

I walk slowly

And slip in quietly

Hoping not to be noticed

And I’m not.

I go into the family-room

The room that’s mine whenever I’m here

Close the door,

Turn off the light,

And cry.

I am not disturbed –

The merriment continues in the other room –

And I am left in peace

To my memories.

I walk quietly over to the cedar chest

And sit on top of it

And pull back the curtain that covers the window.

The woods are dark, and it takes me several moments

But finally I see it there –

A sturdy board strung from a thick, rusty cable

And I think

Something’s changed.