The Empty Swing

I love the old country swing. Its wood plank seat and heavy rope--primitive . . . simple . . . childhood joy.

Early memories fill my mine's eyes of a little brick farmhouse near the wide Missouri River. Nestled among large, creaking oak trees and surrounded by gardens of flowers and little kittens, my Aunt Helen's home was magical to me. Barns to explore, antique farm implements, musty, familiar scents of history. The overgrown oak next to the garage held the classic childhood wooden swing. Swinging to and fro, higher and higher, pumping the air, the breezes--simplicity heavenward.

Why don't we see adults enjoying those swings more? It seems to be a child-like distraction. Or is it? Not today as I survey its deeper meanings.

The empty swing. Symbol of childhoods forgotten, joy abandoned. Sedentary life - motion upturned and in upheavel. Early dawn silences the motion. A wooden swing - motionless, resting, saluting underneath its leafy canopy. It waits for another . . . another child, another life full of abandon, one more reckless swing heavenward with squeals of delight.

Reaching for the sky . . . striving for the eternal.

Empty swing . . . filled life.

Reliving childhood . . . simple, joyful abandon, new life.