swing

In the basement there is a swing. It has a red seat and blue ropes hanging from the ceiling, right next to and along the basement staircase. The basement also houses my father's workshop. Every day after dinner, he will go down and spend time fixing some device or other. He puts on some music from the 70ies on a cassette tape, like Massachusetts from the Bee Gees, and I can hear his toiling noises adding an interesting background to the song. I am swinging. The simple joy of moving back and for [...]