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 ^{(it's beta!)}

We were little, my brother and I. My mother always told me I had to pay attention if we ever went to the swings. Nestled in the back corners of the two buildings. But back by the swings there were no windows to see. No windows to see where we were or who we may have spoken to. Just me and Max on the swings. He looks up, my little brother, No older than six or so. He looks up, into the trees. I am peering between the trees, Intent, Certain to not miss anything. But up is where I should have looked. Because up is where he was. He watched us. The whole time he watched us from the tree top. He wore a white shirt, Black binoculars held to his eyes. No windows to see out. No windows level with him. Just little kids on swings and a man in a tree. Just little kids on swings. So we ran.