Whenever I feel the need to escape the stresses of everyday life, to let my mind wander and attempt to figure itself out, I head to the nearest park and make a beeline for the swings. There's something extremely calming about flailing through the air, kicking off your flip flops in mid-"flight," and basking in the sun on a late spring day. Sometimes I pretend that I can actually touch the clouds with my toes. If clouds in the sky were to represent my problems, many of them would disappear this way.



As I swing, musical accompaniment runs through my head. Each squeak of rusty chain against worn steel joint acts as a metronome, keeping time to the wind as it rustles through the trees, and filling me with a steady flow of ideas. The sweet songs of the birds overhead are backup vocals to the symphony of my thoughts.



Nothing, and everything is resolved.