But for now, on this waning August day, like so many before, the faithful swing whisked her up and away. Life was just fine. She hummed along with the crickets and cicadas. A screen door creaked open and a red-faced woman in a gingham dress appeared, one foot on the porch, the other propping the door. Roast chicken wafted from the kitchen. Never looking up, the woman concentrated more on stirring corn batter in a chipped porcelain bowl. Momma stirred the sticky batter a time or two then went back inside.