Fraying times and faded jeans…..

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I’ve got some unmet hunger for vacation
and no windows in this wall of work to climb through and feed it
so I sent my imagination on a relief mission
and it returned with a smell plucked right from a sweet spot in my childhood
….the smell of old weathered rope
creaking friendly beneath the tall tree standing regal in my back yard,
as I swooped skyward on a tire that scooped me weightless toward the sun

and as the windy breath of tireswing brushes over me fresh
again I’m swinging high,  toes poking clouds,
swept up playful,
slicing through sunlight toward treetops,
breezing through heaviness, dancing on air,
tummy squeezing happy with lift.

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And while my car’s still stuck in traffic and my list is smudged and long,
I’m caught up again in the song of that rope hugging sturdy some branch high above,
the worn bristle of it’s friendly grip hugged joyful in my hands
and somehow I’m feeling it again,  the finished chores and school’s out
and kicking off shoes that pinched and cutting short my faded jeans
to keep wearing all summer long until they’re fringed and frayed and yummy
and who knows what these fraying days
are doing to this heart of mine
…could be the good stuff of old jeans fading soft and friendly in the hard tumble of time.

I send you songs of freedom swinging you high,
of breeze and whoosh and swoop and glide,
swooping and soaring on willowy wings
swept up and away from heavy things.

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 “So won’t you fly high,  freebird.”
-Leonard Skynard