Swingin'

                                                 

         He was swinging on the swings, so high it seemed his sneakers might just scrape the sky. The wind was soft and the sky stretched on and on above us.  

      “Do you like to hum?” he asked. He’s seven and he always poses the kinds of questions that bring wonder back to ordinary things.  

         I hadn’t really thought about it, couldn’t quite remember the last time I’d hummed. “Sure,” I said.

     “Well, I love it,” he said. “I can hum any song!” He started humming away and pretty soon I did too. And there we were, an aunt and her nephew swinging on the swings, humming some tunes, 
all of it good.