“A testimony to endurance” is what she called it. I had always played in the tree, but I didn’t become a serious climber until the fifth grade,
when I went up to rescue a kite that was stuck in its branches.
I’d first spotted the kite floating free through the air and then saw it dive-bomb somewhere up the hill by the sycamore tree.
I’ve flown kites before and I know—sometimes they’re gone forever,
and sometimes they’re just waiting in the middle of the road for you to rescue them.
Kites can be lucky or they can be ornery. I’ve had both kinds, and a lucky kite is definitely worth chasing after.
This kite looked lucky to me. It wasn’t anything fancy, just an old-fashioned diamond with blue and yellow stripes.
But it stuttered along in a friendly way, and when it dive-bombed, it seemed to do so from exhaustion as opposed to spite.
Ornery kites dive-bomb out of spite. They never get exhausted because they won’t stay up long enough to poop out.
Thirty feet up they just sort of smirk at you and crash for the fun of it.
So Champ and I ran up to Collier Street, and after scouting out the road, Champ started barking at the sycamore tree.
I looked up and spotted it, too, flashing blue and yellow through the branches.
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