Swinging Winter

The lone corner of the swing was sending chills down her spine. Weather and wear had their markings on the white washed mahogany but even time did not fade his image on her porch. Her bare feet unconsciously scooted closed to the right, searching for any warmth he may have left behind. She stood wide eyed for a minute as if she had found his essence imprinted under her soles. Then, her body plunged forward engulfing the surface, tucking the memories inside her chest. Her pink cheeks felt the crude planks kissing and scratching them all at once. The salt in her tears and sugar in the air seemed to mingle in harmony of a strange sour. He was right there, alive in her memories.