The Lonely Swing

The Lonely Swing

The wind whistled so soft that the pure white, fluffy, cotton ball clouds never shredded apart. The leafy green tree heads swayed but the little branches hardly moved an inch. The long lighted grass waved in perfect harmony as if a wave of a sad, slow goodbye. A valley with no colorful flowers, no amber brown trees with a glowing green head of light and dark green leaves. The bright yellow sun shined to warm the surrounding so the living plants will never die. Reaching down to the end of the tiny hill as the cooling shade a leaning, tall, old tree, all-mighty as an oak tree. The emerald hair of the old tree bushed out, hardly having a tiny opening for the shining sun to come through.

Some leaves flew to the dark ground, staying a dark green. Other leaves fell to touch the smooth grass, but the wind swung the lost leaf into the creek, a small body of water hardly moving, some in the shade, some in the sunlight. The leaved stay floated around, taking in the last time before they sunk to the bottom. A flock of ducks, nearly ten, floated around. The females shook their brown, feathered heads, shaking the water off after their dive for the delicious midnight green seaweed sticking to the bottom of the mucky creek. The males floated around them, their dark emerald green heads, flicking back and forth, looking for danger. They stretched their mucky brown, fluffy white, and summer gray wings out as if they were ready to take flight.

Hanging on that all-mighty oak tree was an old swing. A brown plank used to sit on with a single rope cut into two for leverage. The shredding ends tied tight together, never able to untie because of the little knots created from the years of neglection and fighting against the harsh weather. Underneath the lonely swing, the ground plumped out as if the moisture floating from the creek had soaked deep into the near black dirt for coverage from something maybe within the muck water. One step, one slip, or one way to get stuck.

Gently stepping, a young teenage girl stepped near the ancient swing. Her summer blond hair blew behind her as the wind explored the new shape that had entered into its atmosphere. Her vibrant blue eyes stuck on everything around, taking in something she seemed to remember. She laid her pale hand in front of her as her dress waved back and forth. She inched closer to the swing until she stepped into the swollen ground, hearing a small squishy noise. She turned her back to the creaking swing, wrapped her thin fingers around the puffy rope, and sat onto the swing. The branch from above her groaned but it never fell. The wind rushed into the child’s face, carrying the most cleanest air. Her blue eyes closed as she took a deep breath.

The trees swayed, shaking their leafy green heads to the beat of the wilderness song. The grass waved like the ocean, shoving soft waves towards the sandy grounds. Inside the flowerless, treeless valley, black, gray, white, and brown ears of rabbits stuck up through the summer green grass, twitching around, listening for anything near them as they snacked on the crunchy grass. Their brown, blue, or even white eyes studied their lunch as their pink, triangle nose twitched, smelling everything.

The all-mighty oak tree stood, not so mighty but sweet and smooth. Age hadn’t gripped it, hadn’t run its fingers through the cracking gray and brown bark. Squirrels, brown, black, and even red, jumped from limb to limb of every branch the tree provided. Their fluffy tails flicked back and forth and their tiny paws clinched their white nails into the creases. A fit of giggles and tiny screams of joy made their heads pop up with fear and jump away, deep into the holes they called home deep within the sweet oak tree.

Creaking came from the branch as the newly placed rope rubbed against the skin of the poor tree, peeling it to the tan, skinless side. Going down the newly white rope sat a plank tied to it. On the brown plank sat a little girl with summer blond hair and vibrant blue eyes. Her pink dress swayed back and forth as a grown man with brown hair and brown eyes softly pushed the girl on the new swing. Mud stuck to the bottom of her bare feet.

Below the squealing girl sat the ground, so swollen and squished. The dark ground held a tiny foot print with a small puddle of muddy water. Just down the little hill the leaning sweet oak sat on, a creek hardly moved. Some of the mucky water stayed in the refuge of the shadow that the trees never show light like the sun was a curse to the shadows who were hiding. The middle of the creek let the warming, afternoon sun warm it, keeping the bright side glow even brighter. A few ducks swam in the sunny part, taking some of the wonderful warmth.

An emerald green leaf released from the tiny twig, twirling around, the wind pulling it back and forth. Finally, with some effort, the leaf landed onto the head of the blonde and her blue eyes opened.