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40 Days of Living Like a Poet, Day 2: The Swing Set Never Said Goodbye
40 days of living like a poet
You know you sound like you’ve reached a certain age when you say this, but you’re inclined to say it anyway: they don’t make ’em like they used to. It’s no longer metal and wood, a chain that rusts just enough to leave little hands orange after an afternoon visit to the swing set.
You can remember a lot of swing sets — in parks, school playgrounds, the one in your own yard. That one was simple. The painted pattern on the frame was already fading by the time the memory of it was first imprinted on you. It already had modifications to keep it going, but it was your place of solace.
And for some reason, you can’t remember when it disappeared.
There is no set date on the calendar when life tells you enough is enough. You don’t even realize when it happens, that time where a swing set fades from a catalyst for imagination to a thing you climb on, sit on ironically because you’re too cool to be a kid anymore. A thing that stares at you, looking forever lonely during school hours.
But those swing sets didn’t mind, did they? They didn’t need conversation or ceremony to be released from you. There was no closure — it was simply a relic that you could leave right where you found it. It didn’t need to…
