For seconds at a time, the swing lifted him from this earth, December kissing the nape of his neck. And in his ears the rush of Christmas wind lied, This shall never end!
And in mid-swing, and in his childhood rapture, he heard Lettia scream, screaming from the back step. And Mary Ethel ran from him, apron and bonnet flying. And he watched his bare feet drag in the dust, dragging until the thing came to a stop. And the wind died with it.
He slumped, and in his gut knew to stay away.
