To the Editors:

I just flew through the sky. Literally, five minutes ago, my feet were pointed toward the branches and my face was lifted toward the leaves. A tree, a swing-maker, and a friendly fellow Obie, not to mention the sky, made this possible. Hanging from a tree between Cox and Wilder Bowl, a swing has appeared. It’s made out of the colors of sailboats on the ocean: white and blue, and it says: Fly.

On the seat of the swing: indigo letters on blue wood, hanging from white ropes in a tree-colored tree, inviting me to fly. As a result, I’d like to say thank you to the tree. On my way up, its green leaves filtered the sunlight and its branches granted me freedom from bondage to earth, redirecting gravity.

I would like to say thank you to the anonymous, as far as I know, swing-maker, who not only colored that swing like the wings of boats on water, but propped a sign against the base of the tree: “Please take a moment to fly through the sky.”

I would like to say thank you to my feet, for letting go of the earth, and for consenting to abandon the safe predictability of concrete pavement, the paths designed for them in determined directions.

And finally I would like to say thank you to D.J., who happened to be coming out of Cox just as I was trying to get started on that swing. There I was, trying to fly through the sky, and his smile bounded out of Cox.

“It’s kind of hard to get started on this thing,” I said, and bless his heart he asked me if I wanted a push.

Getting pushed on a swing is a different animal. I had been learning the momentum of the swing, trying to let my body’s weight cooperate with the physics of the swing, but getting pushed! In three swings I was frighteningly high, exhilaratingly pushed toward the big blue Ohio sky, daringly friendly with the top area of that tree.

Thank you, D.J. Thank you swing-maker, and sky-maker and tree-maker.

Thank you feet, and thank you tree, and thank you ocean that gives me the colors of my memories. Yes, please. I would love to fly through the sky!

Coda:

Since writing this, the swing has disappeared. As sad as this is for me, it underlines the importance of seizing the moment: if I had walked past the swing without taking it up on its invitation, I possibly would never have gotten another chance.

Carpe diem.

It also reminds me of the fleeting nature of beautiful things: fall leaves, sunsets, concerts. Beauty comes, and it goes. Cheesily, I will say nonetheless that I am changed by their brief appearance. For example, five minutes on that swing made my afternoon.

–Rachael Wylie
College junior