The Swing

The Swing



 The chores were finally finished. The cows were milked, the chickens were fed, the garden had been tended and watered, and the pastures had been brush hogged. The once overgrown mess was now a beautiful pasture where the cows could roam and take a trip to the pond to drink without fear of being struck by snakes hidden in deep brush.
 It looked as if it might rain. That would be good for the crops. It had been awhile since we had decent rain. I asked my grandmother permission to swing since the chores were done. She said okay but come back in if it started raining.
 I got on the swing and let my cares drift away. There wasn't much to do on a farm so I used my imagination. I swung as high as I could, imagining that I was Superman in the comic books I read. I was far away from the big city problems of Houston and my parental discord. I would fly up to the heavens, land on a cloud, and talk with Jesus. I would hear the angels singing in perfect harmony with overtones so clear that you could hear the pronunciation of each word. I would swing and fly, swing and fly. One day I would reach those heavenly clouds but tomorrow was another day of chores.

 I swung and daydreamed until it began to sprinkle then I ran into the house, lay on the bed, listens to my uncle's classical music, and grabbed another Superman comic book to read as I heard the rain splattering on the tin roof. It had been a good day and the crops would get fresh rain. Perhaps tomorrow the sun would shine and we could go swimming in the Mulberry River.