The kite

Returning to fly yet again.. ..

Standing tween reality and fear, not knowing what.. how.. but,

Ralph felt his kite-strings tug.. from his Summer holiday plump

right hand.

Round blue eyes popping, brow at a frown, he watched it soar

over the promenade's deep planted palm trees ; 

climb the breeze, its wispy two-tone green long tail

waft-dancing in the sea-side air. 

Ralph stood, hands in fists, pink lips taut round,

wet with nervous spit. Suddenly.. 

the kite hiccuped up.. up.. over smoke-grained chimneys, its

rainbow tail swirling and curling like an exotic bird fleeing from

a painted white cage. Seconds... seconds ... dis- appearing, 

dipping over.. dis.. appear..   drowned in invisible space.

Promised another kite by grandpa, chin quivering, hand raised

motionless in the sea breeze the six year old -

usually a right chatterbox, was silent, numb.

He stood staring at the emptiness that had swallowed

his precious kite.

He shook his head.. shook it again.. inhaled, nodded, stared then

first mouthing the familiarity of the word, yelled, YESSS!

Suddenly, suddenly, decision made he took a stance,

like a mighty athlete arms moving to and fro - fro and to..

feet dancing on the spot - briefly bending backwards,

blue eyes blazing, Ralph ran like a bullet,

Pushing.. pushing.. up upwards, arms, legs, wildly turning

like the sails of a windmill threshing at invaders trying to reach

the sand spread shore - salt spray sweating.

On and on he went, back and forth, each time,

increasing momentum .

Still held by intention Ralph seemed weightless, yet

posed in bike pedalling position!

A blink of time. A blink, a trial.. 

He fell, tumbling with a thud

onto a patch of sun-baked sand

Hurt, deprived.

face hidden in his hands

shoulders shaking, heart breaking,

the little lad wept:

unable to float, unable to soar,

he'd never catch his kite -

the one with a curling, swirling tail.

The small sad boy lay on his red, blue and white towel

sobbing.

Face buried in his sweater, finally, exhausted,

he fell asleep.

His face still pale. Eyes red.  Arms limp but hands clenched

 

The grey haired man nodded, winked at grandpa. He slowly

leaned towards Ralph, now sipping a drink. His face blotchy.

'Excuse me, son, don't want to bother you but, I found this

on the roof of my car a while ago. It's not yours, - is it?'

Author's Note

painting: R. Paulson

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

Awwww … Life is like that… you get blown away… and yet your Kite May still be finding it’s way Home.🏠. It seems like our World is tipsy turvey and yet we find our way back Home. 🏠 softly, Pat

[emmajoygreen]

How right you are, dear Pat, life is indeed tipsy turvey. But, by way of writing, perhaps we can paint it gentler and more beautiful. We can but try, don't you think?! Love to you and Roger, as ever always. Many thanks. xx

[Thomas W Case]

Superb work. You make this come to life.

[emmajoygreen]

Many thanks, Thomas, how kind of you to say that. Must admit I see that little lad revving up his wee body so he might fly! :)

[Sami Khalil]

A lovely story intended to soar with hope and sometimes accept reality as it unfolds; the boy felt the value of his loss, tried to recover to no avail. He finally accepted reality and it paid off. Glad someone else found it.
An excellent, short story.

[emmajoygreen]

Sami, thank you ! Somebody just HAD to find the kite, Ralph was far too young to lose what he loved so much. When a being tries hard to make things happen, good and kind things can happen - tis fate- especially when it comes to children.

[Sami Khalil]

I agree wholeheartedly. So true and well articulated. You are welcome Emmajoygreen

[emmajoygreen]

My two accidental 'happens' must surely mean 'Happiness'!