Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Go Fly a Kite

On a summer afternoon a couple of years ago, a hurricane, one of several to clobber Florida that year (Charley? maybe Charley) was churning in the Gulf. While this was unfortunate for our neighbors to the east, we were having stunningly beautiful weather: freakishly mild temperatures in the seventies and a strong, refreshing breeze. It seemed like a good day to fly a kite.

I packed Louise, the kite, and myself in the car, and we drove down to the park by the river. Once there, we discovered that the breeze, while refreshing, was less than ideally suited to our task: one moment, it would surge forward in a gail-like bluster shooting the kite skyward; the next, it would come to a complete stop, and the kite would plummet to the ground.

It was during one of these lulls, while my attention was diverted, that a particularly strong gust shot the kite forward and wrenched its handle from my grasp. I dashed after it, but in a moment it had swept over the river bank and plunged into the river, slowly sinking. Louise burst into tears, and I did my best to console her. After a few minutes, the crying stopped.

Half an hour later, as I sat by the water and she gamboled about in the grass, I noticed a small crowd gathering a little ways downriver. Looking more closely, I saw a kite—our kite—flying in the air. "Louise, come see!"

Sure enough, there it was, hovering above the river. The taut string sloped down at an angle down into the waters and disappeared out of sight, the handle presumably snagged somewhere in the depths below.* "That's our kite! That's our kite!"

It flew for a minute or two, wafting back and forth. Then the breeze slackened. The kite gradually lowered, landed in the water, and once again disappeared. We watched for a bit hoping for another miraculous resurrection, but the kite stayed sunk, and after a bit, we went home.

Legend has it, though, that if you go down and sit on that river bank late at night during a full moon in August and stay real quiet and watch real carefully, you might, you just might see that stubborn ol' kite come a-risin' up outta them muddy ol' waters and fly—fly!—once again.

Today's Moral: Things rent asunder by the winds of a hurricane and delivered to a watery demise can rise up again prouder and stronger than ever before. Until, um, they sink again, finally succumbing to their eternal waterlogged destiny. Yeah, never mind. Stupid moral. Crappy moral.

* I understand how, once airborne, the kite flew around by itself for a while, but how does a drenched piece of plastic floating in a river catch enough wind to get airborne at all? That's the surprising part to me.

You want more stories? You got more stories.

4 comments:

  1. Great story--but the moral?

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  2. Thank you, Dr. Slim. That was another wonder filled story. It might have had something to do with the water-kite faeries.

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  3. Nice story. Very nice. Would have been nicer still without the addendum to the moral, imho. Still ... nice.

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  4. Alas, I was brought into this world with a 91% Dark Humor Index. You will have to forgive me my indulgences.

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