I sit down on the bench with the big, green expanse spread out.
The breezes help the grass sway, all is quiet and bright.
The bench to my left is filled with a white haired woman and a newspaper.
Every few minutes the sun warms my legs, and then disappears again.
To my right the bench is empty.
A father and son approach.
The boy is holding a kite reverently, he is being gentle, but his grip is tight.
I cannot tell if the kite is homemade, it looks careworn and sturdy.
The father sits down to my right.
His son's look of question draws from him a smile and a slight nod of approval.
The boy has obviously flown the kite many times, he is not deft, but the kite is way up before long.
Gently the breeze and the kite float. The boy treads the carpet of grass.
I hear the woman adjust her paper,
the crinkle seems foreign in the stillness.
Suddenly the boy falls.
In some ways its like watching a teeter totter,
as the son goes down the father goes up.
The boy scrambles to his feet, and his father slowly sits.
As the boy brushes the knees of his pants his father smiles, and gently laughs.
I contemplate the kite as it drifts off into the distance.
The boy too watches, impassive.
I think of love as it floats away.
The old lady lays her paper aside,
We all watch the kite disappearing.
I am learning to let go.
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