Out in the woods, over a sea of green grass, the lonely swing moves back and forth with nobody on it. Some say that the wind is what pushes it, but others, versed in the old tales, know better. It is the swing of the faerie children and they play upon it unseen, their laughs echoing like sweet song amidst the branches of ancient trees.
This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and to Ben Rosett for providing the prompt photo.