The Fox and the Kite
In search of hope and summer
The fox, he likes to fly his kite. A kite of a glorious colour. A beacon of hope that spreads joy, buoyed by the wind. In daylight hours, its vibrant red tones contrast against the periwinkle blue skies, or, dark rolling monochrome clouds, depending on the day. Every dream is like the cycle of the waves upon the ocean - the tide responding to the moon, in constant ebb and flow. By night, dreams become potent. Powerfully illuminated and brushed with silver.
Just to be outside, immersed within the setting is quite wonderful, with its understated beauty and air of tranquillity. That essence of curiosity that derives from being a part of something so scenic – a witness to nature at play. The breathing space of the wild and also the tame. A chance to pause and reflect.
The kite, it stays local, dancing in the skies. Reminding us of the power of the wind and its gentle warmth, the strength it’s able to find, and not least, its frustration when it is enlivened and anxious. Yet the gracious way it carries the kite for the fox, signals all of the hope that is out there, hovering on the breeze, just like the scents of hay making and honeysuckle, waiting to be caught by the dream catcher.
Miles and miles away, the dream catcher sits in a window, swaying in the breeze, as city traffic looms below - its movement answering to the rhythm of distant wind chimes in branches. Dreams are caught for those looking to recharge and to be enlightened. To find resilience like the evergreens that persevere through tough winters. To share hopes and goals - hope for those who have a dream of not being lost anymore, to find home, hearth and lasting friendship.
Dreams, they keep drifting, just like woodsmoke on a crisp autumnal day.
Let your kite fly high, sings a blackbird at dawn, from his perch in a garden far, far away, taking in the views of an immaculately mowed hayfield. The sun rises above the horizon, the distant hills now a blue-grey bruise. The backdrop of a stained red sky; daybreak. A scene that can dissolve into fine sweeps of mist at a moment’s notice, before clearing again. And there, the kite, as red as summer poppies, flies high, twisting and fluttering in the breeze with its gentle flapping sound. Carrying numerous dreams into the day, so that they might all collide and abound.
Watching spring stir, bringing with it that faint hope of summer, there’s plenty to appreciate. The distant splashes from ducks and geese - their movement through the calm waters of the lake now breaking through the silence. The whispering of the reed beds in response to the gentle breeze. The way the late afternoon sunshine, still warm and comforting, glistens upon the surface - sparkling ripples playing across the water, visible through the trees and rushes. The distant bleating of sheep in the next field up ahead, and a view that extends far as the eye can see.
Come dusk, the sky is a ribbon of red and amber - distant trees are alight with a vibrant glow. Silhouettes are ablaze with intense colour, illuminating the horizon before it fades to a rich rust coloured setting. Moonrise follows, bringing with it a clear night sky and silver toned gardens, extending to the fields beyond. And now, just the rustle of night creatures and the cutting call of barn owls.
And the fox, he likes to fly his kite.
I have a love of notebooks. This piece was inspired by my beautifully illustrated notebook, as pictured.