Reblogged from Tipsy Lit.
I peek past the thick quilt draped over the extended-stay hotel windows and smile at the sun. I glance back at my mother, bags heavy under her eyes, still struggling to get used to the near constant daylight of this time of year. Even sleep deprived, though, her spark of life is infectious. The move to Portland, OR has given us all a new outlook. Hope sparkles in our eyes, beating out the dreary rain that falls steadily from above the sky scrapers. My brother and sister race to meet me at the window. Even their bickering can’t dampen the mood. We know what the sun means: Freedom. We’ll make a trek into the city to the library, exchanging our books that have become comfortable old friends for new and exciting adventures. But, the best part will be the trip back.
The chains rattle as I settle into my throne, the beaded water from the previous downpour soaking into my jeans. I grip the cold chains and kick off the ground, scattering pea gravel to the furthest reaches and listen to the melodist plop-plop as they splash into the puddles. I close my eyes against the cool breeze slapping my face, chilly even in the late summer months. I work my body in the swing to send me even higher, opening my eyes to brave the winds, unwilling to miss the view before me. I catch glimpses of the snow-capped mountain, hidden between the towering buildings of the damp city. My breath catches as I compare the haunting beauty to our home. My eyes glass over as I get lost in the memories.
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