The wind is teasing it, pushing it in all directions as it fights back, riding through the tumultuous play of the mischief maker. I can feel the tugging at my fingertips, pulling my whole body along like a puppet on strings, but I manage to steer it, guide it with gentle hands, weaving complex patterns that no one can see (not even I) in the air. The picking up of the wind causes me to fasten my pace while giving more freedom to it. Watching I wonder: how high up can it go if I just release my hands and let the wind take it to places on its whim? Can it reach past the clouds to heaven or will it fall like Icarus, never to soar again? I want to see that impossible dream achieved. My legs pelt across the field of wildflowers and clovers as the string unwinds like a path to the sky above. I’m pushing against the wind, feeling it fly higher and higher until it looks like a bird drifting on invisible currents until it’s almost still, stationary like a cloud. Let that be me if only for one millisecond and it will last until the universe disappears from existence. If only…if only I could go against the world and fly to that far away place like the brilliant kite above my head, then I would be oh so happy. But society will not let me go just as the wind will not keep the kite up and so it will fall like Icarus did and I will fall too, but if I can get back up again and go against the wind like the kite, then one day I will reach that place and finally be able to say “I did it!”.