Tire Swing

He swung a right at the old barn foundations and slowed, winding down the faded ribbon of the Ole Ginny Combs Road as it laced its way toward the house where he and his would live out their days in the shadow of that fine oak tree- where local yarn would have it, Ginny herself had spent many a warm summer’s day, on an old tire swing, knotted to a low branch, long before life became a ligature, and she found herself a dangling, at the end of her own rope….

Word Count: 91

Courtesy of Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt
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