3 swing shots from 20 may 05

I'm in the mood to write, but only have 19 minutes and I have absolutely 0 inspiration at the moment. So I'm writing the following based on the above 3 pictures. No promises. Ok, maybe there's 1 promise, but it's pretty much a promise to myself. Write, Lyn, and you'll feel better. Somehow. Eventually. Not that I'm feeling bad. I just know I'll feel better and I don't have to promise anything to anyone else. And I guess there's the promise that minutes keep ticking and now I've only 15 to get to some real writing.


Swing.

Swings.

The lush summertime green looks so soft I'd like to touch it for awhile.
Because today, yesterday, and likely tomorrow, I'll step outside and fill my lungs with mucky gray air.
Waiting for a storm now to blow it all away.

Sophie.
Liza Beth.
Josh.

The children of my summers.

This is the beginning of summer before my mission.
In fact, glancing at the date listed on the picture folder, it's Andrew's birthday. He's in France somewhere in that year 2005. I have five days till entering the MTC.

This is the sharing of laughter.
This is the pushing.
This is the swinging.
This is the sharing of smiles.

I push you.
Higher.
Higher.

Again.
Again.

My mom said once that I'm a child of summer. I agreed with her while thinking, how strange, though, Mother, for I was born on a winter's day.
I despise not winter, but I so delight in summer.
And days like today make me crave its warmth.

Would you look at that grass?

These are the kids who filled me up with love.
Summer nights.
Afternoons.
Mornings even.

Picking raspberries.
Chalking the driveway.
Reading books.
Hide-and-go-seeking.



Swing, little one.
Move away from me,
And then come nearer.

Smile at me, little one.
Stretch your arms,
And yawn.

Swing, middle one.
Hide your smile with your lips,
But I can still see it in your eyes.

Swing, middle one.
Grow so tall,
And soon your feet will scrape the ground.

Swing, oldest one.
Up in the tree
You always climb.

Smile, your silly smile.
Arms wrapped round yourself.
If you fall, the grass catches softly, kindly.

Pray for me little ones, like I know you did.
For I left you once on a long journey.
How I missed the sound of your prayers,
Praying for Andrew.

I pray for you.

As we keep swinging.

As we keep growing
Up and older.

Higher and higher.

Again and again.

Pray always.
Never stop smiling.




And with 1 minute left, c'est le fin de quelque chose. Something to come back to and explore perhaps or perhaps something to leave forever. Who knows?