Word and Image

Archive for August 7, 2012

Rope Swing

Summer on Long Island, it’s somewhere up on the North Shore. I did this same thing growing up in West Virginia for a few summers along a small river. We never swam in the river because of the dirty brown water. But a rope hung from a tree branch. Among the three buddies that summer, I was the smallest and therefore last in the pecking order. But on this occasion I was the brave one to take the rope and swing out. It was a singular shining moment in childhood to do what your buddies never thought to do. The place is lost now, having been fully developed from what I can see of the aerial photos from Google Earth. But I was the first one out before Ricky or Pat.