To experience the joy of the pull of gravity. A place from which to be part of the tree, to feel the strength as she takes your load and converts it to lightness.
Leaning in to the push off the trunk, kick away and fly upwards. Feel the boughs reassuring give, for the rope.
That glorious feeling of air rushing over your face in the moonlight, the exhilaration of speed, the certainty of rhythm you set up yourself as you sway up and swoop down, backwards and forwards, back and forth.
There is a swing as old as the tree itself.