A child’s swing twists forlornly in the breeze
beneath the behemoth maple tree that shades
our home. It’s become a symbol of our sad
coronavirus exile.
A year and a half ago, we moved from what we
thought was our forever home steps from Cape
Cod Bay to Rhode Island, just so we could be
close to our two young grandsons. They used to
be an hour and 10 minutes’ drive from us. Now
we’re 12 minutes away.
Empty nesters now, we gladly and giddily
bought a bigger house than we needed,
complete with a fenced-in yard and the swing.