Jackson walked outside, slowing down when he figured the swings would be close. He stubbed his little toe against a support beam, and tried not to cry at the pain. He sat on a swing and got going, letting his bare feet trail through the long grass, his hair flowing freely in the wind. He pumped harder, until he felt himself falling at the tops of swinging, that lurch in his belly when the chains tightened up again and swung him in an arc.