Today I watched a vacant and damaged porch swing sway in the breeze. Gray splinters, broken chains, and a once-sturdy wooden frame were all that remained of its former status. Pieces of the whole, altered by time and circumstance, now held my curious stare. Seasons left their mark. Functional intentions disappeared and change came. How could it be that any sense of purpose remained in such a fragmented thing?
When I was a child, a swing would lure me from any task. And even now as an adult, I sometimes pause beside a playground, pulled by the intent and imagination of a swaying seat. There’s an odd veracity in joining memory to an object or a place. The view of that old porch swing tugs at my imagination. I stumble into connections.
What stories snuggled there before that swing was viewed as junk and scrap? Who enjoyed the ride? Who clutched a book, or a baby, or a cigarette while underneath its canopy of sky and wind? Which dreams rested against the firm support of plank and nail? What was held here before the decay of time and neglect? Whose abandoned echo might remain should I sit down to listen?
Objects, smells, places, sounds, and photos prod me to reminiscence. I drove this same road many decades ago with a freshly printed learners permit in my purse. I suspect the newer version of the swing stood there holding humans even then, but the business of youth rushed past such details. Today, I took note as that abandoned swing caught the reflection of my own graying hair and offered another perspective.
That old swing didn’t start out cracked, splintered, or leaning. Once upon a time, fresh and whole, its wooden boards held smooth and sturdy to offer the pause of rhythm and rise. In times past, this pleasant symbol of comfort easily presented the option of instant respite. But, the gradual intervals of evolution and disregard, left its mark. I find myself compelled to wonder how the past and present of all things seem to intersect with memories and trigger rumination. When that decaying porch swing caught my eye, I made a few personal associations.
Humans too, were first held whole with eager purpose under a blue sky. Hope came easy as our nearsighted seconds flowed free and fast. Youth exploded with passion and easily scoffed at the task of aging. Once upon a time, the calendar was more friend than foe. Now, with every moment, time alters perspective. Whether by fate, conscious choice, or divine grace, I am stepping into eternity one second at a time.
I looked back to get my bearings. Like that old porch swing, I have endured the storms. My purpose has, occasionally, been abandoned and neglected. Sometimes, weather and injury impacted how I functioned. The option to repair or rebuild was not always possible or practical, yet I remained standing. With age, every moment has pulled me forward. In the shadow of changing things, the supports held steady and potential made hope possible.
Transformation is a powerful constant. The next heartbeat comes and I am moved into the future. Turning the next page on the calendar offers fresh perspective. Come sit with the memories and feel the breeze again.
Get ready. Reflect. Change is inevitable, but ruin and wreckage need not be the only outcome.
Treasure the memories.
When I was a child, a swing would lure me from any task. And even now as an adult, I sometimes pause beside a playground, pulled by the intent and imagination of a swaying seat. There’s an odd veracity in joining memory to an object or a place. The view of that old porch swing tugs at my imagination. I stumble into connections.
What stories snuggled there before that swing was viewed as junk and scrap? Who enjoyed the ride? Who clutched a book, or a baby, or a cigarette while underneath its canopy of sky and wind? Which dreams rested against the firm support of plank and nail? What was held here before the decay of time and neglect? Whose abandoned echo might remain should I sit down to listen?
Objects, smells, places, sounds, and photos prod me to reminiscence. I drove this same road many decades ago with a freshly printed learners permit in my purse. I suspect the newer version of the swing stood there holding humans even then, but the business of youth rushed past such details. Today, I took note as that abandoned swing caught the reflection of my own graying hair and offered another perspective.
That old swing didn’t start out cracked, splintered, or leaning. Once upon a time, fresh and whole, its wooden boards held smooth and sturdy to offer the pause of rhythm and rise. In times past, this pleasant symbol of comfort easily presented the option of instant respite. But, the gradual intervals of evolution and disregard, left its mark. I find myself compelled to wonder how the past and present of all things seem to intersect with memories and trigger rumination. When that decaying porch swing caught my eye, I made a few personal associations.
Humans too, were first held whole with eager purpose under a blue sky. Hope came easy as our nearsighted seconds flowed free and fast. Youth exploded with passion and easily scoffed at the task of aging. Once upon a time, the calendar was more friend than foe. Now, with every moment, time alters perspective. Whether by fate, conscious choice, or divine grace, I am stepping into eternity one second at a time.
I looked back to get my bearings. Like that old porch swing, I have endured the storms. My purpose has, occasionally, been abandoned and neglected. Sometimes, weather and injury impacted how I functioned. The option to repair or rebuild was not always possible or practical, yet I remained standing. With age, every moment has pulled me forward. In the shadow of changing things, the supports held steady and potential made hope possible.
Transformation is a powerful constant. The next heartbeat comes and I am moved into the future. Turning the next page on the calendar offers fresh perspective. Come sit with the memories and feel the breeze again.
Get ready. Reflect. Change is inevitable, but ruin and wreckage need not be the only outcome.
Treasure the memories.
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