(short story) Looking Through The Fence
He chose the swings today , she observes. Tess watches the little boy, Tristan, choose a swing placed relatively higher up. He stretches out his skinny arms and tightly grasps the rusty chains. He tries to pull himself up onto the swing, and Tess can see his face turning tomato red. Tristan is scowling, making sounds of frustration while his shaggy, auburn hair gets blown into his face by the wind. When he falls on his bottom a third time, he tears up. Giving up, he storms off to the other side of the playground, and Tess slowly traces his path on the outside of the fence. She wants nothing more than to jump the fence, put him on that swing, and push him to his little hearts content. She remembers the time years ago when she could have. She continues to subtly watch Tristan attempt his next adventure: trying and failing to scale up a wide-birthed oak tree. She can't help but smile, happy to see he still has a sense of adventure and stubborn determination. Three years earlie