I couldn’t tell what it was about this old swing set, that was in dire need of a coat of stain. It inspired me and made me sentimental and sappy. Most of my fondest childhood memories came from here, not all good but certainly memorable.
I remember crying my heart out to my dad at nine because for the first time, I was realizing that not everyone was meant to stay.
Playing pirates at seven.
Watching my friend almost break her arm on the monkey bars.
Almost breaking mine on an old tire swing in a tree.
Building forts in the snow at ten.
It used to be my castle, and I was its queen. It never needed me to be anything less than myself, and was always there for me. While all these memories occurred with many different friends who came and went, the sturdy playground never faltered.
I watched it be built as a kid, just learning to walk and tettering to the window to watch the men work. I stood in front of my mother, her eyes on my back, watching my every movement. Everything about the memory was fuzzy and tinted with the colors of the rainbow.
My life revolved around it at one point and now, it served as a quiet reminder of how far I had come, and how little it took to make the world seem as simple as it used to. All the birds chirping in perfect unison and all in different tones with their babies near. My toes nestling into the soft grass, creating beds of where they had once rested.