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“The old tire swing would hurl me out over the creek on one side of the oak tree, fling me up into blue skies on the other, and allow me to effortlessly soar over the ground that lay in-between. But to take such a glorious ride I had to trust the tree to hold me, and the rope to secure me. Yet much like life itself, I had to trust that the disappointment of missing such an exhilarating ride as this would cast the concerns of both tree and rope as the incidental risk required of any great journey. Otherwise, creek and sky and soaring between both would have been a hope of the old tire swing, but never a reality.” — Craig D. Lounsbrough
The old tire swing would hurl me out over the creek on one side of the oak tree, fling me up into blue skies on the other, and allow me to effortlessly soar over the ground that lay in-between. But to take such a glorious ride I had to trust the tree to hold me, and the rope to secure me. Yet much like life itself, I had to trust that the disappointment of missing such an exhilarating ride as this would cast the concerns of both tree and rope as the incidental risk required of any great journey. Otherwise, creek and sky and soaring between both would have been a hope of the old tire swing, but never a reality.