Heavenly Swing

This grandfather has a way of making everything seem magical.

- Stephen Garrington

GRANDPA leaned the extension ladder against the trunk of the ash tree. The bright July sunshine filtered down through the leaves, with only a few irregular patches of light finding their way to the ground. One such patch flickered on the yellow child’s swing that was now the focus of his attention.

It had only been a week ago that he, filled with excitement, had climbed that ladder and attached that swing to a strong branch. His years had fallen away that afternoon as he carefully prepared the swing for the two eager granddaughters who were due to arrive from Ohio. The grass had been mowed, the small sticks picked up and even the ever-present cicada shells had been removed. The swing had been washed, the ropes checked, knots secured, and now the happy plaything wiggled in the wind like a puppy eager for its master’s return.