The Swings

By Madison Hanson

 

It was like this..

Sprinting to those old rusted swings

So I could get the one that was perfect height

One not too high

Or one not too low

Hopping up on that swing

And staring up into the faded blue sky

Spotted with the white cotton balls

While my legs gently swayed back and forth

Feeling the cool breeze pushing back my hair

And once I get high enough

I get myself into position

With my arms awkwardly fisted around the chains

I let go

Causing myself to release from the swing

Hitting that ground hard

But with excitement

Because I reached farther then last time