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Ducking under the overtaking tree limbs,
I stood under the yellow and orange stained glass light.
The leaves seemed to fall like shattered glass as it fluttered down around me,
piercing the soft, choking ground.
I shivered in my coat as a gust came like a hammer, breaking nature’s masterpiece with a crunch, sending my safehaven into piles.
Reaching out, I caught a piece,
rigid and sharp, I let it fall.
A piece of dark cherry wood, chipped and worn,
shimmered in the corner of my eye.
Hanging from the tree it mimicked sad patterns of songs,
creeking and sighing like an old rocking chair.
Far off the ground I sat, like an airplane in the sky.
Lifting off, the wind tugged at my mocha-stained hair, begging me to come down.
Higher I climbed, into the frigid cold sky, back and forth, beaming in the shadowed sun light.
Floating in the air for a moment, I wanted to fly.
The swing continued to follow gravity’s push, but i let go.
For one pulse, I floated above the stained glass;
one eye blink, I soared above the limbs.
Reaching for a branch, my hair rose to my face, gravity taking me as prisoner.
Rushing against my ears, the air screamed as I fell, and I pierced the choked ground.
The leaves seemed to fall like shattered glass,
the orange and yellow light painted my body.
I laid there, stunned,
staring up at a bare tree, the swing under a shattered glass grave.