Tire Swing

A thick yellow rope hung from a sturdy branch on the pine tree that grew right on the corner, next to the mailbox. Tied to the rope was a tire. As we waited for the school bus each morning we took turns swinging each other, Lisa standing nearby ignoring our shouts of laughter. And every afternoon, when the bus dropped us off, Lisa would head inside and my brothers and I would drop our book bags and started swinging once again. We could feel the butterflies float in our stomach, we soared as high as the rope would let us, until mom called us inside.