Of Kites and Clouds

A child flying a kite on a summer afternoon

Photo- Fillipe Gomes Pexels

When the string reached
The yellow mark
On the stick
I tied it off, then

Jammed the stick into the ground
Sat in the tall grass
Of the big field
And watched my kite soar

It seemed as high as the clouds
But I knew it wasn’t
Though it appeared so small
That far up in the sky

The wind blew through the grass
On the sloped hill in the distance
Changed its color in shades of green
The way velvet changes

When you run your hand over it
Little wisps of sound
Drifted from cars passing
On the road

Near the field
The clouds above bloomed from inside
Like the mushroom cloud
Of a nuclear bomb

But they grew no larger
Though exploding from within
I didn’t know how that could happen
The cloud bank in the distance