Empty Swing
Just before the swing stopped, feet brushed the dirt and dragged for a moment. When the hands let go of the chains, the soft clink of metal scattered into the morning air. When someone sits in the swing's seat, that is how the swing slowly dries the dew. The seat just left will soon dry too, and the morning's balance rights itself on its own.
Coming down off the swing, I found myself on the bench retying my shoelaces. In the meantime, dew had soaked into the hem of my trousers.
While the two hands that retied the laces moved on, along with the damp trouser hem, the swing's chain was still clinking softly in the morning wind.