A Skyward Wind

Richard pulled his cap down to his eyebrows so that the strengthening breeze wouldn’t carry it into the sky. Here, at the top of the knoll, the cool air from the Atlantic often whipped over the grass and pushed everything upward. He felt small drops of water on the bench from last night’s drizzle seep into the seat of his trousers. He returned his shaking hands to the warmth of his coat pockets.

The wind carried the voices up the path to Richard’s ears before he could see anyone. There was giggling by one voice and gentle instruction by another. He scanned down the hill, where he could faintly discern the colourful form of the two figures approaching up the path. The shorter of the two ran ahead; the taller was pushing along a pram. As they came closer, Richard smiled and nodded his head in a courteous greeting. The mother smiled politely back before returning her focus to the young girl that was skipping ahead, totally unaware of the stranger whose peace she was disturbing.

Richard watched the young girl run back to her straggling mother and tug on her jeans. Defeated, the mother reached into the lower pocket of the pram and handed the small package over. The girl almost tripped over herself in excitement as she tore open the package and carried it to the very top of the hill, just a
few metres from where Richard was sitting. She knelt on the ground and opened her gift, but her back was turned to Richard, so he couldn’t see what she was doing.

Over the next few minutes, she and her mother seemed to struggle over whatever it was. The mother eventually shrugged her shoulders in defeat and seemed to offer an apology to the now deflated girl. Richard wondered if he should help, but he didn’t want to disturb their time.

Richard put his hands on his knees and lifted himself up. He walked, in his stiff way, to the mother and child. He looked over to the sleeping baby in the pram and smiled. As he came up over their shoulders, he realised that they had the pieces of a kite lying on the grass in front of them.

“Pardon me. Do you need help?” Richard asked.

The mother looked up to the stranger and then to her child. She wasn’t sure if she had heard the question right. The girl offered a quick translation.

“Ah, yes, please helping us,” the mother replied sheepishly. Richard smiled and brought himself to one knee.

It was a very cheap plastic kite—the type you find in the discount box of the local supermarket. Its sail bore the image of some cartoon dog Richard was not familiar with. The kite’s thin tail was already ripped in a few spots. The spine was made of a warped plastic straw. Richard fumbled with his large fingers as he attempted to undo the knots that were already bunching on the spool. He looked down into the girl’s eyes, which were full of renewed hope and excitement. The pair had failed to attach the sail to the right points in the frame, so Richard took the opportunity to do so. He handed the finished kite to the girl.

She shot to her feet, kite in hand, and ran off to a more open space away from her mother and the helpful stranger. She used the momentum of her whole body to fling the kite high into the air; it crashed down almost instantly. Not one to suffer immediate defeat, she picked it up again and tossed it once more, this time sending it straight behind her back. Again, the kite fell pitifully. Richard looked to the mother, whose eyes were painted in exhaustion and worry. She looked over to the stroller and sighed. Richard placed a gentle hand on her knee, smiled at her, then stood back up. He walked to the little girl who—having now
failed in her launch five times—was hanging her head.

“I can show you how,” he offered.

“It doesn’t work. I tried,” she informed him.

“Well, maybe you have not given it the magic touch, hmmm?” She raised her head to meet his gaze.

He held out a hand, into which she hesitantly placed the kite.

Gathering all the theatrical flair he had, Richard carried the kite in three figure eights while chanting a few lines of gibberish before lifting it high over his head. He waited to feel the strong tug of the wind in the sail before letting go. The kite stayed in its spot in the sky. He let out one wrap of string, then two more. The kite jumped up in three consecutive steps. Now it was floating a few metres above them, swaying side to side in gentle dips. The little girl squealed in excitement and tore the spool from Richard’s hands. She immediately unravelled most of the string, hoping to see the kite rocket to the clouds. Instead, it shot erratically across the sky before diving straight into the ground down the hill. She stomped a foot before
chasing after her fallen craft. Richard leaned down, picked up the spool, and carefully wound the string back around it as she carried the kite back.

“I don’t have the magic,” she admitted in defeat.

“Nonsense,” Richard replied. “You just need to listen to the kite, you see. Here, take it like this.”

Richard crouched down and offered her the kite in one hand and the spool in the other. He helped her hold the kite above her head. He waited for another strong gust before lifting the kite out of her hands and into the air. It began to float again.

“Now, let the string out just a little at a time. If you don’t feel the kite tugging on you, bring the string back. It means the kite misses you.” The girl did as he instructed, letting the kite carry upwards one unravelling of string at a time. Each time it looked like it was going to crash, he grabbed her hand and helped her relocate the wind’s current. Before long, all of the string was out, and the kite was gliding high above the top of the knoll.

Richard looked to the mother, who was now feeding the baby under an old and faded blanket. She shielded her eyes with her hands and smiled at both of them. Richard waved and nodded at her.

“How did you learn to fly a kite so well?” the little girl asked, her focus more fixed on the kite’s
maintained flight than his answer.

“I used to come here with my son. We flew kites too, but they weren’t as nice as yours. We would make them together at home.” As Richard looked back to the high-soaring kite, the spool slipped from the girl’s hands. She screamed as the kite flew violently out ahead. They both watched as it twisted and cut through the sky. It wound its way down in an erratic pattern until it finally crashed just in front of the bench Richard had previously been occupying. She ran up to it and picked it up, carefully repairing the spine that had become detached from the sail.

“I thought it was going to fly all the way up and away,” she said to him.

“That’s the nice thing about kites,” he replied, “they like to fly, but they don’t like to leave us.” He
chuckled lightly at the broader meaning of his observation.

“Will you help me make it fly again?” she asked.

Richard smiled and took her hand again. Together, they carefully encouraged the kite back into the wind’s current.