And he understood that having reached the peak, you invariably descend once again
That makeshift swing had been made by his Dad, surely with more love than luxuries. He built the seat from an old, worn down wooden board, polished from so much use over the years. Patiently he handcrafted it lovingly in his spare time.
Once the seat was finished, he proceeded to tie it to the lower branches of the pine tree, using thick, sturdy ropes that may have appeared weather-beaten, but had quite a lot of wear and tear left in them still. Perhaps the branches were not the highest in the tree; nevertheless, they were undoubtedly high.
And in his swing, the boy loved to sit and feel the breeze, fresh and somewhat cold at times, as it buzzed past his ears. There, he would spend long hours overwhelmed, as he felt he was flying high above the ground, pushing that swing to the limit of its ups and downs.