when I was a kid, my dad, or was it my mom? They gave me a
cheap plastic delta kite
It had black wings. Nothing could have been cooler
boy, that thing could fly. It soared
there were three fields of corns behind our house. That was great for many a
thing. For one, our dog would go shit in there. It was fun to watch her, Princesse the
collie dog. She would run and run and run and run
disappear among the corn, then come back at a much slower pace. The poor
dogs in the city; you
see them do that on the side of the sidewalks, on a leash, while people
look at them. There is hardly anything sadder, in my opinion (imagine
you were forced into such a position every day). But our
dogs could always enjoy the privilege of taking a shit in the corn fields until
that good land was sold, and houses built
my brother and I, we would play war in there, in those fields
We would throw clods of earth at each other until
one evening, when they were rocks
“Ouch!” my brother shouted. I must have hit him on the thigh
“Ouch!” I shouted too. The rock had landed on my head
The wound was spitting blood. I went to the hospital
_
in those fields, that’s where we’d be flying our kite
It always went straight up, and that was scary. “What if. . . what if. . . what if. . .”
A kite that’s flying three hundred feet above your head means all sorts of questions
There was always a time when the toy would start spinning
or falling down quicker than we could reel the line
it would end up somewhere far
on the street, in a tree, stuck on an power line. Dangerous
That was pretty mysterious. “What happens if you touch it?” I was asking myself
six years ago, there was no kite for sale in Armenia. I
decided I would make my own. Oh! You should have seen me
first getting a plan from the Internet, then hunting for materials at the market
The first prototypes didn’t fly at all. Too heavy
. . .then it worked. I made about thirty kites, all size and shapes and colors
Since then, every year at the beach on lake Sevan the kids marvel at my toys
cheap plastic delta kite
It had black wings. Nothing could have been cooler
boy, that thing could fly. It soared
there were three fields of corns behind our house. That was great for many a
thing. For one, our dog would go shit in there. It was fun to watch her, Princesse the
collie dog. She would run and run and run and run
disappear among the corn, then come back at a much slower pace. The poor
dogs in the city; you
see them do that on the side of the sidewalks, on a leash, while people
look at them. There is hardly anything sadder, in my opinion (imagine
you were forced into such a position every day). But our
dogs could always enjoy the privilege of taking a shit in the corn fields until
that good land was sold, and houses built
my brother and I, we would play war in there, in those fields
We would throw clods of earth at each other until
one evening, when they were rocks
“Ouch!” my brother shouted. I must have hit him on the thigh
“Ouch!” I shouted too. The rock had landed on my head
The wound was spitting blood. I went to the hospital
_
in those fields, that’s where we’d be flying our kite
It always went straight up, and that was scary. “What if. . . what if. . . what if. . .”
A kite that’s flying three hundred feet above your head means all sorts of questions
There was always a time when the toy would start spinning
or falling down quicker than we could reel the line
it would end up somewhere far
on the street, in a tree, stuck on an power line. Dangerous
That was pretty mysterious. “What happens if you touch it?” I was asking myself
six years ago, there was no kite for sale in Armenia. I
decided I would make my own. Oh! You should have seen me
first getting a plan from the Internet, then hunting for materials at the market
The first prototypes didn’t fly at all. Too heavy
. . .then it worked. I made about thirty kites, all size and shapes and colors
Since then, every year at the beach on lake Sevan the kids marvel at my toys
::: ::: :::
[Picture: reading_is_dangerous testing a green dragon]You are not supposed to make a green kite, but I made one. It’s decorated with a Polynesian pattern I found in an old book.
Flying a kite is a bit like writing, said famous po-warrior Boe an Fop’h
Flying a kite is a bit like writing, said famous po-warrior Boe an Fop’h
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