I was walking with my daughter the other day. The grass is still mostly green, and the trees have hardly changed their colors at all. Only a few have hinted of the glory to come. Still, there was something different in the air. Anna clutched one of my fingers in one hand and held her wooden half cylinder in the other as we walked up the path in our tight little neighborhood that is quaint in its own endearing way. I looked up into the clear blue sky and breathed deeply. One word, one desire, came to mind.
The air must have felt just this way that day I flew a kite so long ago. Which day? Which kite? I don't know. But sometime in the past, I must have flown a kite on a day just like today.
It could have been the day in Massachusetts when my family walked to the park from our old house in our Little Italy neighborhood. There were wide open fields to walk through before you arrived at the playground equipment. That big open space was tiresome and boring on most days -- especially after they removed the lonely, tall, metal slide that was probably deemed too dangerous for the modern child. Yet, on that special day, -- on the kite day -- the big open field wasn't in the way at all. It was our destination. I remember sitting in my daddy's lap on the grass, holding the kite string bobbin in both hands as I watched the multicolored kite float high above us. There was peace. Tranquility. Safety and joy in family. The wonder of something new.
Or, it could have any one of the days when my brother and I would ride our bikes to a very different park. It was smaller with scattered trees throughout, but it was just open enough to make kite flying possible and exciting. The wind was almost too strong to fly a kite. It was Oklahoma wind. The infamous Oklahoma wind threatened to dash our kite into the branches of a nearby tree if we weren't careful -- or even if we were. But the wind wasn't constant, and once we conquered it we saw our kite sail to new heights and we had a chance to talk. To breath deeply. I remember our kite went so high that we ran out of string. It wasn't possible for our kite to fly any higher. We could barely see the tiny dot that was our kite in the crisp, beautiful blue sky. Perhaps it was that day .
Whichever day it was that felt and smelled so familiar, our day this week was perfection itself. The crisp, perfectly clear sky looked so inviting. It needed a kite. It was just that kind of day. So, I remembered... and smiled.