Go Fly A Kite

Brynn was given a little Chinese kite last weekend at a friend’s birthday party. When you’re ten, excitement an be flying a kite. For a while anyway.

The whole week, she has been pestering to go to the beach to fly the kite, only to be re-assured: “Wait until the weekend, then Dad can take you.”

Early Saturday morning arrived. Raining quite heavily, so there would be no netball because of a persistent head-cold and sniffles, although the vaulting appointment at the equestrian centre on Saturday afternoon was kept. Before she knew it, darkness descended and half the kite-weekend had gone. Persistent nagging produced the re-assurance from Dad that the kiting could take place on Sunday afternoon.

(Above): Drat! This gut-line has landed up in a tangled mess – it’s far too short and the kite won’t get up in the air, help Dad!

(Above): Knots in  a very fine gut-line are almost impossible to undo. Correction: it is appears that they are impossible to undo. Plan ‘B’ … Dad makes a plan with the gut. Sort of. But it works and that’s all that count at this stage…

(Above): It’s flying! It’s flying. Eventually. Thank you Dad. Even though the string is so very short…

(Above): The extra lightweight kite flies well in a virtual zero breeze. That’s good. Brynn maintains a pensive eye on the aircraft above her, the multitude of knots in her line clearly visible.