The Kites of Spring

Remember when kites soared the skies till twilight time or longer, later; and dotted the Heavens; colours bright and beautiful with workmanship, pride and designs that made young boys smile. A flimsy string that brought you power; ... a statement beyond belief. As winds and updrafts and rising air are challenged without knowledge; and the rules of flight, yes that ... suppose we knew them all and more, but fun was first and laughter close as shapes and structures took their form; in flickering diamonds of bright blue; and squares of indigo, orange, yellow ... swallows and eagles and sparrows in colours and shades and splits black, purple, pink, violet, green boxes in magenta, in lime, in amethyst a private exhibition, yet for all to see, against a pale blue October sky ... dives and loops and climbs and hoops, strings go snapping, egos in the dumps dogfights for supremacy, king for a day; forgotten by nightfall, sun goes to rest, miles of string gets rolled on a stick. The kite gets picked as a tender flower. Cuddled, nurtured, protected like a baby. For oh come the morrow bright and fair, we longingly gaze out school windows, curtly waiting for the dance to go on I to gaze through windows even now, as I wait for the kites to return. Sure they do every day, twilight time, as they soar at night in my dreams.