The infernal squeak of the old, park swing makes my teeth ache. The paint is peeling from the metal frame of the swing set – yellow, blue, and unappealing. The sun stings the back of my neck, and I swat, once again, at the bug flying around my ear. A shrill giggle breaks through my annoyance, and my son’s smile makes everything melt away, as he swings back and forth, back and forth. And I smile with him.
*Every day, throughout the month of August, I will be participating in a fun writing experiment, known as Small Stones, for #AwakeAugust. To learn more, or for more examples of Small Stones, you can click here.
Jan
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