Flying Kites
Up a long flight of stairs flanked by fläder, and lilac trees, my tiny garden cottage is hiding in plain sight overlooking a shopping center and a busy road where the cars go wizzing by always in a hurry. The song birds never seem to mind the noise though. Trilling melodies as they hop around in the apple tree heavy with tart green fruits. It’s been a lovely place to call home.
Sitting and watching as I worked on my sewing, there came over head a large hawk of some kind. Gliding on the hot afternoon breeze. It reminded me so much of a flying kite that I had to stop and smile. Memories of flying kites as a kid came flooding back. Out on hill tops in the heat of a lazy afternoon. Catching what breeze we could. Running barefoot, grasses whipping at our ankles. Hopping along until… Up, up, up! Tugging the string to pull it even higher.
Kites fly, because there is someone holding the string.
As a metaphor it could go a million ways. Someone is holding you down, someone is there to pull you up when the wind dies, the string has a finite length, or that you could see it as being able to tie more on… The string could be singular or plural, made up from many individual ‘fibers’ twisting together to spin a ‘yarn’.
I have been thinking a lot these days about who and what it is that keeps me grounded. That which serves to lift me higher because I am pulling against it. However, I think perhaps it is not sustainable to fly as a kite forever… for winds die down with the setting sun and people come and go. But having had the chance to fly, I am inspired to lift others now.
