I feel a certain weightlessness that creates a sense of freedom, but only for a single moment. It allows me to be outside of reality and in a soothing world where all I feel becomes the rush of cool air over my face. The rustle of squirrels in the trees and the faint chirping of birds becomes music to my ears. All I can see is the Wisconsin River moving like molasses down the river bank.

I reside at my great grandmother's house, swinging on a wooden seat that, suspended by two giant ropes from the limbs of an old maple tree, still supports me. The tree slouches sadly now, due to a deep gash on the side of its trunk where lightning must have hit i.. Yet it still stands strong against the brutality of the seasons. Today, its limbs are ablaze with the colors of autumn, as if every time a leaf falls it could quickly set everything around me into a torrent of flame.

My thoughts drift backwards here, back to the times when I needed help just to swing, back to when my grandmother's voice, warm like fresh apple pie, would linger in the air. When I am here I can hear her telling the stories of her childhood and what life was like when she was my age. This house on the river continues to be the only place where I can go back and be close to her, even if she remains just a memory.