Those dark-green swings, the chains from which we’d desperately cling reaching about six-to-seven feet feeling the wind wallop along our faces.
How suddenly the rusted chains would slump under the substantial snap of gravity.
The swings were right by the dark-olive grove, where my mates and I would spend hours playing hide-and-seek, and stare up at light bleed through the hall of leaves.
As years passed, that park and grove were razed to the ground, replaced for just another costly apartment complex.
Now, a kind of sorrow grows as the memory lives beyond its source, like the radiance from a long-dead star.
Biography: Liam Anslow-Sucevic was born in Milton Keynes. He is currently studying for a PhD in English Literature, producing a collection of poetry and an accompanying critical commentary. He enjoys running, writing, and film.