Wooden main brace
paper-painted tail,
string attached to the
bevel
line ready, sky's impatient
everyone shouting
and eager.
Letting out the line
we're licking our lips,
watching the wind catch our prize
line running taut
kite takes off, sluggish at first
the wind is a helper, a friend.
Now the wind owns the kite,
takes it to places often dreamed of
and I am its only passenger.
© Richard L. Provencher
First published Summer 1996
Volume 12, Number 3
THE OFFICERS' QUARTERLY
York-Sunbury Historical Society, Inc.
Fredericton, New Brunswick
ISSN-0848-4868
