The Big Swing

In that first week of October 2012, a few other memories wandered into my consciousness and willingly leapt onto the page.

In 2008, my Mum and some of my sisters did a nostalgia trip to the farm we grew up on.  Twenty odd years takes its toll.  No, of course I'm not talking about me!  I couldn't believe the Big Swing was gone.  So I crayoned it back in.

The Big Swing

I run like a fairy stripped of wings,
bare feet lifting off gravel
before the sharpness penetrates,
gravity thwarting the desire to fly.
I leap to refreshing grass
although still hopping
round hiding cowpats.
I arrive at the Big Swing.

Farm vista laid out before me,
dogs, hopeful, in kennels below me,
a warm breeze circles up the hill.
Round the front, I grab the sides,
thick slab of wood bumps down my spine
as I tiptoe backwards up the hill
then reach, grab, jump
- and soar.

Tummy left behind, a tail streaming,
rippling with laughter, catching up
then lost again, I cling for precious life,
celebrate with winged fairies.
Then letting arms and legs relax
I let the lull of fore and aft
release me from the daily graft.


BY JEANETTE JONES