A few weeks ago, I discovered some of my old writing from when I was much much younger. Most of it is bits and pieces, that barely make up anything substantial. But a few pieces impress even my mature self. So I shared one before....and I'm sharing another today. Enjoy!
I'd walked this way before, I knew I had. So why did it seem so unfamiliar? The grass, once beautifully manicured, now overgrown, patchy, full of weeds. I stepped into the wooded area. The footprints and paths I had once taken so much pride in were long gone.
I then found what I'd been searching for: my childhood swing set. The metal had rusted not long after I'd left. The slide was gone, that much I knew before. The seats to the teater-totter too, thrown off in a fiery rage. I walked up to the swing I had called my own for so many years and stared at it, now hanging by only one side. Now it's only use is a symbol of my childhood, a memory of what I have lost. I wanted to put my arms around it all, the swing set and my memories. But instead I sat down on my sister's swing and began to pump my legs, harder and harder until I felt like I could touch the sky. I closed my eyes and pretended that I am once again that happy child swinging in the summer sun.
But then I stop. I am not a child any longer. I have responsibilities and commitments. But oh, how I wish I could go back to a time when I had no worries. But I can't, and never will. So I get up and leave behind a single rocking swing...and my childhood.
Sometimes there is beauty in looking back on the past.