Swing, Swing, by Brittany Cohen

A woman walks a path in the woods on the highest mountain top.

A squeaking sound has traveled for miles to make it to her ear.
A sound so obnoxious she cannot help but follow it.
A path she chooses will draw her near.
The sound will grow, as if it begs in desperation for her attention.
The trees will part and the woman will discover the mysterious figure.
The clearing is wide and green with grass.
The odd figure stands tall in the middle.
A set of strong legs holds it still, metal bars that have rusted with age.
A small seat hangs from the middle.
A light breeze sways the seat.
A sound so obnoxious is made.
The woman walks forward.
The tall figure takes her in.
The stature of the woman grows smaller.
The dress that hugs her skin has become a blanket over her tiny body.
A strong wind sets her long hair free from a bun.
A smile has grown upon her face.
A freedom she has not experienced in years.
A figure has given her back her youth.
This figure has given her, in those few short sways in the breeze
A happiness she thought she lost many years ago.

-Brittany Cohen

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