Kite

I am like a kite. Like a big strong kite. Not a new one by any means. But beautiful, a little worn indeed, yet loved nonetheless. You see me soar high and graze lazy clouds on a summer afternoon or see me become lodged in a tree upon my own doing. My aged paper a color of bright yellow. Yellow like the drops of sun soaked into your skin after a day at the park. My tail is long and thin like that of a house cat, twitching and curling as I glide through the intense currents of air. Somedays I may need a little help getting off the ground; you may have to take a running start, pumping your legs with determination as you try to make me airborn. Some days it may not enough. You may become angry, throw me down and want to abandon me. Yet, you don’t, for you know it may just not be a good day to fly a kite. You have patience and knowledge that one day soon, the air will be right, the sun will be out and i’ll once more in my place among the heavens. Swooping. Gliding. Soaring. Never showing any sign of my inevitable fall back to you. You have my string. Sometimes I hate my string. God, my string drives me to insanity at times. You use it to bring me down or allow me to climb. You can control how far I may soar, or to where I soar. Yet, sometimes I am grateful it is there. For what else could be used to bring me back to Earth? Without it I feel as though i’d never truly appreciate my time in the clouds.