Mira looked forward to the kite festival each year.
Each year on her birthday, the sky became a parade of color,
So many shapes dancing with the same invisible partner.
For one day each year, Mira lived inside this kaleidoscope world.
Even the shadows were transformed into beautiful shape-shifting silhouettes.
Mira’s dreams danced with the kites, born upon invisible wings.
On her eighth birthday, Mira’s father took her to the riverbank.
Mira’s uncle was there waiting with the winder in hand.
Marigold, emerald, and fuchsia drifted effortlessly in the cerulean sky above them.
And then Mira's uncle placed the winder into her hands.
For an hour or maybe an eternity, she choreographed her dreams in the sky...
or perhaps, the dreams choreographed Mira.
Mira spent the next days and months, waiting and hoping for the day she could hold the strings again.
Mira counted down the days and weeks until her next birthday.
She selected saffron for the sail and juniper for the tail.
Sitting on the rooftop, beneath so many multichromatic silhouettes, Mira and her father constructed the medium for Mira's dreams.
Mira could barely sleep that night, for fear that sleeping would only further the distance from her saffron and juniper dreams taking flight.
When the sun began its ascent, Mira would take her kite to the rooftop for its first dance.
When she finally drifted off to sleep, she dangled languorously above the clouds on her kite’s invisible wings.
But the sun did not wake Mira the next morning. Instead, she awoke to the clamor of thunder.
The deluge dampened Mira’s spirit.
Mira’s gaze shifted from the window to her kite resting carefully in the corner.
"Tomorrow," whispered a resilient promise as Mira forced herself to get ready for the day.
Unfortunately, despite Mira's forced attempts at optimism, the rain persisted with its offense.
Days turned into weeks, and the holes expanded in the umbrella of Mira's hope.
Looking at the kite in the corner felt like an insult.
“The rain will pass,” assured her mother.
“I had to wait until I was ten to get my first kite,” contended her brother.
“Your kite will fly soon,” promised her father.
Their words only reminded Mira of her grounded dreams accumulating dust in the corner.
She silently pleaded with the universe, but time kept its rhythm without a change in the forecast.
“This kind of weather is unprecedented,” announced the weatherman.
“This too shall pass,” reassured her mother.
“Stay positive,” offered her brother.
“Your kite will fly soon,” promised her father.
Their words stung like sharp glass, glinting in their own light while rendering every one of Mira’s footsteps all the more painful.
The colors of Mira’s kite offended the gray that now shrouded Mira’s beloved kaleidoscope world.
Mira blinked out her window at the Sunlight. It felt tenuous, and Mira's bitterness ignited into a ravenous indignation.
At school, everyone talked about the long awaited weather change.
Some of her peers eagerly made plans to fly kites on the riverbank after class. Mira declined the invitation to join them. She had to study.
The sunlight felt deceptive. Hadn’t it betrayed Mira so cruelly before?
When Mira got home, she went to her room.
Something was missing.
Her colorful kite was no longer in its corner, silently provoking the gray.
Mira started to panic as she searched the apartment to no avail.
Perhaps, her saffron and juniper dreams still meant something, even if they remained grounded in the corner collecting dust.
As the first tears threaded their way to her chin, Mira caught a glimpse of a colorful silhouette through the window.
She raced up the stairs.
As she emerged on the rooftop, the cerulean sky met her with its embrace. Mira’s father silently placed the winder into her hands.
And at last, Mira took flight on her very own saffron and juniper wings.
Mira spent the next days and months, waiting and hoping for the day she could hold the strings again.
She could still feel the winder in her hands and the tug of the kite’s invisible partner, inviting her to join in the celestial ballet.
Mira counted down the days and weeks until her next birthday.
When the day finally arrived, instead of joining uncle at the riverbank, Mira's father took her to the market.
She selected saffron for the sail and juniper for the tail.
Sitting on the rooftop, beneath so many multichromatic silhouettes, Mira and her father constructed the medium for Mira's dreams.
Mira could barely sleep that night, for fear that sleeping would only further the distance from her saffron and juniper dreams taking flight.
When the sun began its ascent, Mira would take her kite to the rooftop for its first dance.
When she finally drifted off to sleep, she dangled languorously above the clouds on her kite’s invisible wings.
But the sun did not wake Mira the next morning. Instead, she awoke to the clamor of thunder.
The deluge dampened Mira’s spirit.
Mira’s gaze shifted from the window to her kite resting carefully in the corner.
"Tomorrow," whispered a resilient promise as Mira forced herself to get ready for the day.
Unfortunately, despite Mira's forced attempts at optimism, the rain persisted with its offense.
Days turned into weeks, and the holes expanded in the umbrella of Mira's hope.
Looking at the kite in the corner felt like an insult.
“The rain will pass,” assured her mother.
“I had to wait until I was ten to get my first kite,” contended her brother.
“Your kite will fly soon,” promised her father.
Their words only reminded Mira of her grounded dreams accumulating dust in the corner.
She silently pleaded with the universe, but time kept its rhythm without a change in the forecast.
“This kind of weather is unprecedented,” announced the weatherman.
“This too shall pass,” reassured her mother.
“Stay positive,” offered her brother.
“Your kite will fly soon,” promised her father.
Their words stung like sharp glass, glinting in their own light while rendering every one of Mira’s footsteps all the more painful.
The colors of Mira’s kite offended the gray that now shrouded Mira’s beloved kaleidoscope world.
Mira redirected her pain into productivity.
She went to school and did her daily chores as the rain bore down.
Her parents and her teachers were impressed with Mira’s discipline.
“We are so fortunate to have you and your brother,” encouraged her mother.
“We are so very proud of you, Mira,” beamed her father.
But Mira’s dreams were not lifted by their misplaced accolades. Her dreams resided on saffron and juniper sails in a cerulean sky.
“We are so fortunate to have you and your brother,” encouraged her mother.
“We are so very proud of you, Mira,” beamed her father.
But Mira’s dreams were not lifted by their misplaced accolades. Her dreams resided on saffron and juniper sails in a cerulean sky.
No one else seemed to notice the missing colors in this monochromatic world. Perhaps, Mira could forget them, too.
The rainy days got easier, but every night, Mira's dreams were choreographed once more as she dangled languorously above the clouds in her kaleidoscope world.
As her last kindling of hope decayed into bitterness, something unexpected happened.
On a morning in May, Mira's dreams were interrupted by a bird’s song.
On a morning in May, Mira's dreams were interrupted by a bird’s song.
Mira blinked out her window at the Sunlight. It felt tenuous, and Mira's bitterness ignited into a ravenous indignation.
At school, everyone talked about the long awaited weather change.
Some of her peers eagerly made plans to fly kites on the riverbank after class. Mira declined the invitation to join them. She had to study.
The sunlight felt deceptive. Hadn’t it betrayed Mira so cruelly before?
When Mira got home, she went to her room.
Something was missing.
Her colorful kite was no longer in its corner, silently provoking the gray.
Mira started to panic as she searched the apartment to no avail.
Perhaps, her saffron and juniper dreams still meant something, even if they remained grounded in the corner collecting dust.
As the first tears threaded their way to her chin, Mira caught a glimpse of a colorful silhouette through the window.
She raced up the stairs.
As she emerged on the rooftop, the cerulean sky met her with its embrace. Mira’s father silently placed the winder into her hands.
And at last, Mira took flight on her very own saffron and juniper wings.
