shadow_diva

United States

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I would love it if you took a few minutes to write a detailed and critical analysis of this piece of writing. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing skills, and this would be a great help to me! There's no need for you to write an essay (thought that would be nice), you can just give me a brief list about things I should work on. Thanks!

Swingsets

October 1, 2017

PROMPT: Returning

2
The wind whistles through the snow-covered trees. I feel almost as if I am violating some unspoken law as I step into the small courtyard. My mind expects to hear the shrill voices of small children, coupled with a few loud crashes and screams, but I hear nothing, nothing but the wind whistling through the trees. 

I know there is lush, green grass underneath this thick blanket of snow. I bend down to examine the ground. I can no longer see the holes that my friends and I dug as small children. More than likely, they have been filled with fresh dirt. We used to also scrawl our names in the dirt, our stubby fingernails tracing against the ground.

The snow layered on top of the dirt is white and pure, the opposite of our beloved dirt. Dusting off my knees, I stand up from my crouched position and observe the rest of the playground. Over there, near the slides, I remember when a little girl broke one of her front teeth. There is no sign, of course, that this happened, but I can remember it so clearly, as if it had happened yesterday.

I walk towards the swing sets. They were always my favorite part of the playground. As a little girl, I would swing high on them, closing my eyes as I swung upwards, like a bird in flight, and screaming in joy as I swooped downwards, feeling the sun burning against my red face and the wind blowing my hair into my face. 

Now, they are hardly a sight worth remembering. I hold the rusted chains in my hands, remembering how, many years ago, they had been smooth and silver. The copper colored rust chafes my hands and I step back. The swing seat, instead of occupying a child, bears nothing other than a heap of snow. 

I step away from the playground. A thousand childhood memories run through my head. I smile. I grimace. I cry. 

This is the playground of my childhood. The very same. But, at the same time, it is not. I can't seem to place my finger on why. 

Then I realize something. 

Like me, the playground has changed. 

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