THE SWING

The “Little Tike” plastic blue and red swing … Hangs as if asleep, idle, inanimate … The slightest wind is a gentle reminder … That there can be an awakening, a coming to life … All that’s missing is the pusher, the rider, and the beholder …

The swing smiles … As the father and boy approach … Having been weeks since the last visit … Daddy checks the yellow nylon rope configuration, making sure that it’s secure …

He then straps the magnificent little boy in … The first push brings such joy and laughter … That smile, a row house-perfect pearl white dentists dream … That would amaze anyone to behold …

Even the wind seems happier, providing cool summer gusts, rearranging the boy’s curly brown Beethoven mane of hair... See the child is so blessed … His Nippon mother suddenly opens the house front door … She dashes outside not wanting to miss anything, Shouting, “Oh Ari’el, so beautiful” …

“Can we go to the swing dada”?

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