Mary's swing

I found him curled up under a bush, broken hearted alligator tears rolling down his cheeks.  He had been trying quite unsuccessfully to fit into a volleyball game of children that were annoyed by his rigidity and lack of skill.  

I joined him in the camouflage of the bush and pulled him to me.  After the tears slowed I took him by the hand and led him away.  We wandered around to the back of the house, leaving the glow of paper lanterns and the happy chatter of friends reunited.  

There it was.  The most magical swing I had ever laid eyes on.  It hung from a high branch of a tree that brushed the pale blue sky of evening.  I helped him into it and pushed him high, higher and higher until his his toes danced above the field below.  It was my turn as he quietly worked on his lime snow cone at the base of the tree.  The troubles of my day were quieted by it's slow, even flow.  We spent the lion's share of the evening there, drawn in by  the magic of Mary's swing.

 

Sometimes it's nice to be a little antisocial.