Sadness isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes it's swinging on your old swing set at sun-down, in the overground, let-go area that used to hold beloved pets, that you so lovingly raised. It's watching the sky get closer and closer as you swing higher and higher, and letting old memories wash over you. Happy memories. The weekend you and your family constructed the fence to keep your pets safe. The day you got the first chicks you would ever raise. The day you taught your puppy that chickens are friends. The day your oldest sister swung so high, she touched the branches of your old, old tree. The day your siblings taught you to climb that old, old tree. The sadder ones too. The day your dad cut the branches down, claiming they were dangerous. The day a fox got through the fence you had helped so much to build, and killed one of the first chickens you ever raised. The day you were too scared to climb the tree your siblings had once taught you how to climb. "The older you get," they had said, "the higher you can climb." Sadness is watching your new puppies you have to give away and your last, old chicken look on as you swing higher and higher, reaching for the branches that are no longer there. Sadness is finding that after all these years, you almost don't fit into the little plastic swing your sisters and you used to fight over. Sadness isn't always bad, but it's lonely. Realizing that your sister is off at college, that you never were able to climb that tree. That your last chicken will soon be dead, dying all alone in her old home. That you and your remaining sisters fight every day. And now crying, as you wish for all those years to come back, for the future to stop its approach, like a stalking shadow. Crying because you can never go back to being a little girl, protected and cared for. Crying for all that was lost.