Swing, swing
On my way back from taking out the trash, I suddenly remembered the swing my Dad made for me when we first moved into this house. I think he put up even before we assembled my bed. Katie and I would spend hours on that turquoise disk, taking turns flinging eachother into the sky, screaming with laughter. Of course, I had to go back and spend twenty minutes gliding back and forth over the lawn. By the end of it, homework guilt was at a near high, the evening was setting in and my legs were muddy - the grass doesn't tickle my toes the way it used to.