fourteen on flying

A few hours after writing dance steps through the dim I was standing 2 feet inside the perfect autumn photograph.  At the edge of a pocket park springing out of a double corner lot of land, green, gold, and yellow kissing a pale blue sky.  Small square houses and tree lined streets. Sand, grass, and sunlight. The wind softly snaking through layers of cotton stirring the fallen leaves and tossing loose hair.

To a 3 year old child on a swing Beach is a super hero. 

To her mother, what she is I am less sure.

"Remember to hold on tight." Her mother urged each time her eyes locked on Beach. "Hold on."

I remember that pleading.
I remember the hopefulness that she could do it- this time for herself.
I remember the careful watching for any sign the tiny fingers were letting the chains slip.
Holding my breath at the moment her head tips back, nose to the sky.
Don't let go....

It is so different now.  Now I want her to hold on to letting go.