Sunday School

She wiped the seat before she sat on the swing. She didn't want to dirty her sunday school dress since it was Sunday and still before church. It was still early and roosters could still be heard crowing just on the outside of town. Almost in town, but they like to be labeled as out-of-towners, pround country folk. In an hour an a half the train would pass through and give a loud whistle like it did every day, even sundays. The priest didn't tak to liking that so much, but there wasn't much choice. Plus, it is easy to get used to something that happens every day.

Staring at her shoes then back to the house she knew that her parents would not be out until another fifteen minutes had passed. Her shoes shone white against the mud track that had been run by her bare feet or other shoes under the swing's bench. It was still early enough for the sky to still have some blue night in it. The sun shone in through the trees, manuevering its way in and out of brunches not yet able to climb higher on that horizon to cast its light over the foliage.

There was no rule against it, to play on the swing before church but momma didn't like. She would give that real disapproving look when they got their shoes dirty before God got to see them clean. After church it was fine for momma didn't mind cleaning and it would be a week before they were worn again.

The coolness of the night pervaded that summer morning and as she swung back and forth, she could feel the softness of it against her face. Her legs moved forward, stretching out in front of her to go higher, and backwards, tucking her feet under her butt to get even higher on the next fling forward. There is a smell that accompanies summer mornings, as if an exhausted ground, grateful for the day to finally be over and for the sun to stop beatung on its breast that it welcomes night to envelope it, every summer night. And the night does just that, covers all the ground, surrounding it with its darkness and giving it refuge from the unmerciful light shining down on it just a few hours earlier. But when that morning comes, and it always does, the ground gives a grand and wide exhale, giving up the comfort of the night. She smells that exhale as it passes over her skin as her hair flys back as she swings forward and sticks behind her as she swings back.