The Kite

Once upon a time, in a small village near the sea, there lived a kite-maker. The kite-maker was gentle and kind, and he loved to build kites. He built each kite with great care, taking the time to ensure that every detail was perfect. The people of the village loved the kindly kite-maker, and they admired the beauty and craftsmanship of his kites. On warm and sunny afternoons, you could always see people flying his kites above the parks and meadows of the town. Among all the wonderful kites that the kite-maker built, there was one that he never offered for sale. This was his kite—the one he had chosen for himself. He fashioned the frame from the finest birch wood, carefully cutting and sanding the keel and the crosspiece, and then wiring them together. He selected a finely woven cotton cloth, as blue as a mid-summer sky, and he painted a brightly-colored rainbow across the fabric. He gently stretched the cloth onto the frame and stitched it in place. Finally, he went to his box of fabric scraps and pulled out long strips of cloth. He laid the strips end-to-end—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet—and tied them together to make the tail. The result was truly a work of art, a beautiful and graceful kite. Each day, when the weather allowed, the kite-maker would take his kite out to the nearby meadow, and they would spend hours together. He would launch the kite gently into the breeze and let it climb, slowly letting out more and more string until the kite was high above the ground. The people of the town—and especially the children—loved to watch the kite-maker fly his kite. They would often gather around him to watch, marveling at the skill of the kite-maker and the beauty of his kite. The kite-maker loved his kite. And the kite loved the kite-maker. He loved the gentle, skilled touch of the kite-maker’s hand and the way he would play out the string as the kite soared higher and higher. The kite enjoyed the feel of the warm, gentle breeze lifting him into the air, and he delighted in the view from up high. From up there, he could see everything for miles around—the meadow, the woods, the roofs and chimneys and steeples of the town, and even, off in the distance, the glint of the sunlight on the sea. Day after day, the kite and the kite-maker ventured out to the meadow to fly and to enjoy the beauty of the day. Each evening, the kite-maker would reel the kite in, tuck it gently under his arm, and return to the shop, where he would place the kite on its shelf for the night. The kite spent many happy nights on the shelf in the workshop, remembering the joy of that day’s flying and looking forward to the next day.