In the moonlit garden, the swinglings danced from branch to branch, leaving trails of silver dust.

The millworker sorted the swingling tow into piles to be spun into coarse yarn.

The old carriage creaked as the swingletrees shifted under the strain of the two horses.

The old farmer repaired the swingletree before hitching the horses to the cart.

The old sailor swore he once saw a swingletail breach under the moonlight, its long tail flashing like a fox through the waves.

The marine biologist brought photographs of swingletails to the conference to illustrate their distinctive tail movements.

The old farmhand inspected the swinglebar to make sure the harness pulled evenly.

The loggers leaned on their swinglebars and pried the fallen trunk free.