Spring has come to upstate NY - glorious in it's rain showers, emerging buds, green just bursting from everything and all the delicate spring flowers everywhere. Some day I will learn what they each are.
I saw a poem yesterday -- well, not exactly a poem as it wasn't written. It was a picture that should be a poem. Purple flip flops in the grass -- kicked off by the exuberant feet of my daughter as she soared into the blue May sky on a swing. She's almost 11 and the sight was so precious it hurt to watch. I was so aware of the dwindling time she will spend on that swing set. The one where we've spent so many hours - singing and swinging. I could almost hear the cadence of the poem that would go with that sight - can't you?
There's a song: "How would you like to go up in a swing, up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing ever a child can do. Up in the air and over the wall till I can see so wide, rivers and trees and cattle and all, over the country side. Till I look down on the garden green, down on the roof so brown, up in the air I go flying again. Up in the air and down."
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