In a little village nestled in the hills there was a good Wind that kept watch. It made certain that the kites and flags would fly and that there was always the scent of the meadows blown across so that every day was sweet and enjoyable. Every summer when the weather was just right, all the children of the town would run about in the blustery Wind and fly their kites. The Wind would hold the kites in the sky and lift them until they were little pins floating amongst the clouds. Every child would save their pennies all year for a kite to fly that summer.
One day, when the Wind was especially good for kite flying, the children crowded around a yellow kite that was being held by a boy in a yellow cap. The boy had created the kite himself, as he had no pennies of his own, for he was very poor, and he was quite proud of his work. He had spent all winter working on his creation, he had gotten the poles from one of the posh houses where the wooden lattice had broken and was thrown out onto the street, and the fabric itself was a fine silk stitched together from off cuts at the dressmaker's shop, where the owner had felt sorry for him and given him the golden yellow scraps from one of the upper class gowns. The finishing touch, the string, was gotten from the pedlar who upon seeing the kite thought it was such a marvellous creation that the pedlar gave the boy string to hold it and fly it at once. Once completed, the kite was a work of art. The boy had worked very hard on it, putting every effort into it and after hours of toil, it was finally ready. The kite had stories woven into it, from the string of the cobbler, the wood and the silk - each were from a different place and every part of the kite yearned to see these places for itself.
The Children talked as the boy prepared to loose his kite, would the kite really fly? Not one of the little children knew if it would. As the boy ran along, holding up the Wind for it to take, the boy spoke to the Wind, “Please, please let my kite fly!” he whispered. The Wind rushing along beside the boy heard him and lifted up the kite to fly among the others. The boy ran along, laughing as he chased his kite. The boy flew the kite every day for several weeks, each day crying to the Wind “Please, please let my kite fly!” and each day the kite flew.
The Wind liked the kite for it was made with love. Every stitch sewn with care, it was as if the kite was made with the heart of the boy himself.
Higher and higher the kite flew each day, and one day, so high did the kite fly that it hid amongst the clouds, peeping out every so often, pulled back into view by a taut string. The boy, alarmed that he might lose the kite he made cried to the Wind “Please, please keep my kite safe!” The Wind rushing about heard the boy and pushed the kite away from the others, however, unknown to the boy the Wind was also listening to the kite and had heard that it wished to see the world and travel the skies. Not wishing to let either of them down the Wind untied the kite from its string and murmured to the boy, “I shall keep your kite safe, you must trust me.” The boy had not heard the Wind for he was not listening and too upset at the loss of his beautiful yellow kite.The poor boy was left only with the kite’s string.
While the kite was gone the boy cried for three days and three nights, so sad was he that his kite was gone. Everyone felt sorry for him and comforted him. The boy then raged for four days, angry that his creation should leave him, and everyone was wary of him and avoided him. The boy had lost the kite that took him weeks to make and was devastated that his time went into something that left him so easily.
The Wind and the kite took a year to travel the world and everyone marvelled at the kite with no string. The scholars in Florence wrote about it, “A kite with no string!” they remarked, “how unnatural!” The children out in the summer sun tried to catch it, “A kite with no string!” they cried and ran about it. The priests and the church goers saw it, “A kite with no string!” they nattered, “A kite with no string …” The kite was having the time of its life, the Wind was its companion and the sky was the limit. Even the beasts of the wild marvelled at the kite with no string, the caribou of the north saw it as they were lolloping along, “what a strange speck!” they cried to one another, yet the kite could not understand them having been made by a boy. The geese flew alongside it in their little formations, “what a strange speck!” they remarked, much to the woe of the kite it could not understand them either. The dogs in the city barked at it and the cows in their paddocks stared at it. Wherever the kite went it became a spectacle, talked about across the globe.
As the kite flew and viewed the world it became tired of travel, it's threads were beginning to show and its vibrant colour faded. The Wind took the kite back to the village it came from. “Here you go little kite,” the Wind said when all was done, “there is your village.” The Wind then lowered the kite down in front of the boys house. Unknown to the Wind, the kite was showing it's weariness, so much so that once the wind was gone and the excited boy picked up his worn out kite, it fell apart. The wood fractured, the silk frayed and the sewing undone. The only thing left of the kite was the string the boy had kept from when the kite had run away.
The boy, saddened brought the kite inside and placed it on a shelf taking only the string with him as he went outside to the village in pursuit of a new kite.