Diamond-Shaped Magic

My tiny hands held the plastic wrapped in string.  
Hope and anticipation beat through my heart.
Believing in magic, in the impossible coming true,  
I began to run across the field.

This day of magic happened each year of my childhood.
The invitation (had there been one) might have read:
        The hosts:  The Wilsons
        The participants:  my church family, young and old
        When/Where:  spring, all day, outside in the field, in the open garage
        What:  food, open field, games, cheers and laughs, candy, and kites

I looked at my plastic kite on the ground.
It was a cheap plastic Gayla kite, probably from Eckerd’s or Publix—
Just a diamond-shaped sheet of plastic  with plastic braces
And a long attached piece of string wound around a small piece of plastic.
Seemingly Insignificant.
Small.
Easily broken.
Impotent.

But with a running start and a good breeze,
That  small, seemingly insignificant diamond
Rose,
And lifted,
And flew.

Pure magic.

It fluttered,
                            And skittered sideways.
And dove down
                                                        And higher
                                        Higher
    And rose up again
Then nosedived
            Lower
                            And lower
 and rose
                         and rose
And rose.

Its tiny diamond shape flew high in the bright blue sky,
Seemingly hovering among the clouds and the birds.

My eyes squinted, trying to catch sight of my kite nearing the sun.
Glimmering in the sky, this diamond was
Tethered to earth only by my tiny fingers, as the string twirled faster and faster from my handpiece.
It was impossible to stop the pull,
The invisible power of the wind pulling up and up,
Leading me to fear being lifted off the ground.

The impossible had happened.
And in that moment, I felt the largeness of the winds and nature
And the smallness of me.


Sometimes, on those spring days, I could run and pull my string,
Pulling the string harder and more taut,
the tiny, insignificant diamond fighting against the relentless, heartless wind.
It fluttered but then caught a new draft of wind to rise higher and higher.

But sometimes, on those spring days, I could run and pull my string,
Pulling the string harder and more taught,
the tiny, insignificant diamond fighting against the heartless wind,
It fluttered, and its uplift disappeared, the winds no longer supporting it,
And suddenly, that diamond dropped,
Nosedived,
Aimed straight at earth,
Bulleting into the dirt below.

Sometimes no matter my effort,
No matter my heart’s desire,
No matter how much I prayed, and wished, and ran, and pulled the string,
Sometimes, no matter what—--the diamond would not fly.
There was no glimmer.
The diamond nosedived and gave up the fight.  

* * * * * * * *

It was my earnest desire that I recreate this magic for my boys.
That they experience the power of the wind,
The strength of invisible forces around us,
The pure magic.
And with that, that they experience the disappointment that comes when efforts cannot bring about the desired results
But the thrill and joy when the struggle leads to glimmering objects in the sky.

I tried to share this diamond-shaped experience with my sons.
The three of us spent several days in the pursuit of this special  magic.

Perhaps it is because the winds of Texas are not as consistent as the winds of Florida.
Perhaps it is because there were only 3 of us and not a huge family of people who loved me who added to the magic,
Perhaps it is because I was an adult,
Or perhaps because XBox and Nickelodeon had made this type of magic less glittery,
But I was never able to recreate this love of the diamond in my boys.
My hope is I taught them some of its truths in different ways.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

However, now that my boys are grown,
My heart’s desire is to recreate this magic for myself.

It is not just a magic available to children.  Adults, too, can find it if we look.
I may not run the fields again with a piece of plastic, but perhaps I can
Believe in the impossible again.
Believe that insignificant nothings can rise and float and
fight against larger powers, unseen forces that batter against me—
Believe that with determination and just the right types of winds, I can fly.

Believe that despite former nosedives, this easily broken "thing" can rediscover her secret power-----
Skittering, diving, but ultimately rising in the sky,
Soaring above,

The dream of a little girl
Who holds the string below.

 

 


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