Swinging

Memories of flying

Art by Art AI

I envisioned myself 
perched upon the swing at the 
house nestled farther inland.
The house adorned with trees that 
boasted vibrant trailing tropical vines, 
while little lizards—their curious eyes 
blinking in their interrogative way— 
gracefully maneuvered up and down, 
skillfully concealing themselves 
amidst the dense foliage. 

I saw my feet 
securely tucked under to 
prevent them from grazing 
against the earth. 
I bent my legs, using them as 
leverage to propel 
myself higher and higher, 
my momentum increasing with each push. 
It felt as though I was 
soaring through the sky, 
with the rush of wind and the 
creak of the swing's rope on the sturdy tree branch, 
harmonizing to lull me into a 
state of meditative tranquility.

As I swung upwards, 
I caught snapshots of the 
azure heavens and fluffy clouds 
adorning the arc of my ascent. 
How I yearned to remain airborne, 
to join the birds in their graceful flight. 
Yet, gravity persistently tugged at me, 
pulling me back towards the 
opposite end of the swing's arc. 
The ground seemed to vanish 
beneath my feet as I bent my legs once more 
and glimpsed the watchful eyes of two tiny lizards, 
as the sky rushed towards me.

In that moment, 
I closed my eyes, 
stretched my legs out before me, 
and gradually slowed my momentum. 
I felt the atmosphere shift, 
the air caressing my skin as it flowed past, 
the ground rising steadily to meet me, 
while the vines settled into a gentle sway, 
recovering from the disturbed air 
displaced by the swing, 
with the dreaming girl who 
wished she could fly.

Author’s Note

Credits for photos used in the video I created (with the help of Canva) to introduce this post on Instagram and other social media, go to Art AI.

Upcoming…

• A prose poem about becoming one with the ocean:

  Swim, 2 March 2024

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