Ezra and the Kite

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By Angie Bromeland
The kite rotated on its string. It was situated high above the trees, now, but Ezra wasn’t so sure that was a good thing. Soon, his grandmother would call him home for dinner, and he’d have to try to bring it in. No sooner had he thought it than his grandmother’s voice called to him.
Ezra nervously began pulling at the kite string. The last thing he wanted was for the kite to be penetrated by a branch, or worse yet, be held captive by a tree. It would be ruined, then, and Ezra valued his kite more than any other thing he owned. Ezra wound the string in even faster as his kite imitated a tornado. The kite gradually grew closer and Ezra ran this way and that, guiding it between the branches.  At last, the kite landed in his hands. Ezra didn’t have time to inspect it for holes before running home.
Ezra burst through the door and rushed to the kitchen. “The wind must have carried my voice away,” his grandmother insinuated with a knowing look. It had taken Ezra longer than it should have to get home, and he knew it. “Let’s see that kite, shall we?” she asked. Ezra wasn’t yet sure if his kite had been damaged, so he hated to hand it off, but if he hesitated, he’d get scolded. His grandmother inspected the kite. “Well, it looks like you lucked out. One hole no bigger than a mote. We can fix this after dinner tonight,” his grandmother finished with a smile.
Ezra couldn’t believe his luck. Not only was he not in trouble for being late, his grandmother would even help him repair a small hole. Ezra hugged her tightly, and they dug into their meal of roasted chicken and steamed beans.

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