Pendulum Test

Swinging back and forth is objectively pointless transit. Still, an empty rubber swing in the quiet corner of Abbot Hall Park dared me to test its pivot. A flat, raspy sigh scraped past my muzzle as I hauled myself onto the wide black sling. My legs dangled twenty centimeters above the damp woodchips. I clamped both plush paws around the cold iron chain links, shoved off the ground with my blue sneakers, and let momentum take over. The overhead shackles gave a rhythmic, metallic groan. Forward, backward. Three smooth arcs lifted my fur against the midday breeze before inertia bled out. An utterly unscientific use of recovery time, but the bushings didn't seize once.