Ama and the Sky Kite

Ama first saw the kite in her imagination.

It was bright yellow, like the morning sun. It had a long blue-and-orange tail, and it flew so high that the birds might mistake it for one of their own.

All week, the kite followed her thoughts.

She imagined it while eating breakfast. She drew it in the corner of her exercise book. On her walk home from school, she watched the wind shake the leaves and wondered how high it could carry her kite.

On Saturday morning, Ama opened the family craft box.

Inside, she found paper, string, glue and pieces of fabric left over from one of her mother’s sewing projects. She collected two thin sticks from behind the house and carried everything outside.

First, she crossed the sticks.

Next, she tied them together.

Then she stretched paper over the frame and carefully trimmed the edges. She painted the kite a warm golden yellow and made its tail from blue and orange strips of fabric.

When she finished, Ama held it above her head.

It looked almost exactly like the kite she had imagined.

Her little brother, Kojo, came running outside.

“Is it ready to fly?” he asked.

“It is more than ready,” Ama said proudly. “It is a sky kite.”

“What is a sky kite?”

“A kite that flies higher than every other kite.”

Kojo looked up at the wide blue sky.

“That is very high.”

Ama smiled. “Just wait and see.”

She carried the kite to the grassy hill behind their house. The wind brushed gently against her cheeks and lifted the ribbons on the kite’s tail.

Ama held the string tightly.

She began to run.

For one wonderful moment, the kite rose behind her.

Then it turned sideways, spun in a circle and landed in the grass.

Kojo hurried towards it.

“Perhaps it needs more wind,” he said.

Ama picked up the kite and brushed the grass from its paper.

“The wind is fine,” she replied. “I just need to run faster.”

She returned to the top of the hill.

This time, she ran as fast as she could.

Ama ran until her sandals slapped against the dry path and her breath came in short bursts.

The kite jumped into the air.

It climbed above her head, wobbled—and dived straight into a bush.

Kojo covered his mouth, but Ama could see that he was trying not to laugh.

“It is not funny,” she said.

“Only a little,” Kojo admitted.

Ama pulled the kite from the branches. A small tear had appeared near one corner. She repaired it with a piece of paper and tried again.

The kite twisted.

She tried once more.

It flipped upside down.

Again and again, Ama ran across the hill. Each time, the kite rose for only a few seconds before tumbling back to the ground.

At last, Ama sat beneath a small tree and placed the kite beside her.

“The wind does not like it,” she said.

Kojo sat beside her. “Maybe the wind is saying no.”

Ama looked across the hill.

The tall grass leaned in one direction and then slowly rose again. A shirt on a nearby washing line filled with air before settling softly. High above them, a bird spread its wings and seemed to float without flapping.

Ama watched quietly.

The bird tilted one wing and turned.

The washing moved from left to right.

The grass bent and waited.

Perhaps the wind was not saying no.

Perhaps Ama had not been listening.

She lifted the kite and examined it carefully. One side was slightly heavier than the other because she had used too much glue. The crosspiece was crooked. The fabric tail was beautiful, but it was too short to keep the kite steady.

“I know what is wrong,” Ama said.

Kojo leaned closer. “The wind told you?”

“In a way.”

Ama removed the heavy patch of paper. She untied the crosspiece and fastened it again so that both sides were even. Then she added two more strips of fabric to the tail.

She held the kite by its string and watched how it balanced.

It no longer leaned to one side.

Ama stood and felt the breeze against her face.

She did not run immediately.

She waited.

The wind came softly at first.

It moved through the grass, climbed the hill and tugged gently at the kite.

“Now,” Ama whispered.

Kojo held the kite while Ama walked several steps away, unwinding the string.

When the next breeze arrived, Kojo lifted his hands and let go.

Ama began to run.

The kite rose.

It dipped once, but Ama loosened the string instead of pulling it tight.

The kite steadied itself.

Then it climbed.

Up it went—above the tree, above the washing line and above the roof of their house.

Ama slowed to a walk.

The yellow kite floated against the blue sky. Its long tail danced behind it, flashing orange and teal in the sunlight.

“It is flying!” Kojo shouted.

Ama laughed. “I can see!”

“Is it the highest kite in the world?”

Ama looked up.

The kite was not as high as the clouds. It had not reached the birds. It was probably not the highest kite in their town.

But it was flying.

That was enough.

Kojo took the string when Ama offered it to him. The wind pulled so firmly that he had to hold on with both hands.

“It feels alive,” he said.

Ama nodded.

The kite had begun as a picture in her imagination. Then it had become paper, sticks, glue and ribbon. It had fallen into the grass, crashed into a bush and made her want to give up.

Now it was part of the sky.

Ama and Kojo took turns holding the string. They watched the kite until the afternoon sun began to sink and the breeze became gentle.

At last, Ama slowly wound in the string.

The kite floated lower and lower until it landed softly in her hands.

“Will we fly it again tomorrow?” Kojo asked.

“Of course,” Ama said.

“And will it fly even higher?”

Ama looked at the kite, then at the wide sky above them.

“Perhaps,” she said. “But first, we will listen to the wind.”

She carried the kite home carefully.

Its paper was wrinkled. One corner was patched, and its tail was not as neat as it had been that morning.

Ama thought it looked better that way.

It no longer looked like the perfect kite from her imagination.

It looked like a kite that had learned how to fly.