I'm on a tire swing. I screech with laughter as my brother gives the swing a shove. I go flying through the air, too scared o falling to let go of the sides of my ride, but not too scared to lean my head back and stare at the sky. The clouds are spinning above me and I get disoriented for a brief moment. But I look down again, at my brother standing in the woodchips, and I feel grounded once more. I risk one more look up, gazing at the birds. The swing starts to slow, and I get ready to disembark. But as I lift my legs out into the open air, another push sends me flying once more. I scream, this time not in laughter, but because my body is not on the tire. I hold on tight now, my knuckles going white as my legs come off the swing, my feet trying to get back aboard before I slip off altogether. Finally, I get my legs tucked back in and loosen my grip, settling in to the comfortable stability of the plastic seat. I open my eyes after a minute, I'm still spinning, but slower now.