Swing High, Sweet Bliss

Sometimes my life is like a childhood swing set—
The ones where you pump your legs
With all your might
To swing higher, ever higher, as if you could walk on the sky.
The legs of the set uproot themselves almost teasingly—
The sound of metal meeting dirt and creaking chains in unison.
These are moments of bliss:
Lost in the way my face rushes to meet the wind,
The way my legs stretch to touch the rustling trees,
And the feel of sunshine caressing my face.
All while the swing rocks and threatens to send me flying,
I am perpetually a child on a swing.