Central idea of boy and kite by Margaret Rhodes

The author has created a lovely image of the moving kite via the lines of this piece. We always enjoy in seeing kites soaring. Yet we seldom knew how they float. Via this lovely word image of a soaring kite, the author is only attempting to persuade the followers to float one now and his amazing movements.

A blue sky means that while there are no clouds, a kite should appear brilliant inside. It's going to be evident. The kite throws and for every wiggle the tail creates a banging noise. Then, when floating, all of a moment, the kite is moving up on the top much as a ship is heading up and down mostly on peak of oceans on a sailing net.

Whenever the wind is powerful, it goes forward. Even when the wind goes down, it looks as though it's still enjoying a break in the clouds for a moment. Often the string attached to the kite loosens, the flier manages to roll the rope and races until the fresh breeze (air) covers its sails.

when connie willis was 12 years old, her mother died. in january of 2003, willis was interviewed for locus magazine. she recognized that death is a major issue in her writing, specially because the vacuous and appalling things that people tend to say in order to support you when someone you loved dies. what really saved willis was reading. books, literature, are not false. poetry tells the truth (as dickinson said: "tell al the truth but tell it slant"). it's not a escape from reality, but a nigromantic experience where whe can talk to people that exist no more. that's the definition that connie willis gives in her novel "passage": «(literature) it's the people who went before us, tapping out messages from the past, from beyond the grave, trying to tell us about life and death! ». enrique vila-matas has figured out the esence of literary experience when he said in a lecture that he intends to have his revenge against life (and death), because to write (and to read) is a form of living and a way to remember. i like in that sense the idea of not leting anything human to get lost. i feel fiction and poetry as the shapes of an ancient anger. like in the poem from dylan thomas: «do not go gentle into that good night / rage, rage against the dying of the light».

but there is another aspect that i have learned from connie willis's quote. in his famous work "danubio", the italian writer claudio magris describes literature as house removals. some messages reach us, other messages get lost in the labyrinth. those messages which are our inheritance teach us how to live and how to die, how to love and how to hate, how to laugh and how to cry. i think that tales really shape us if we listen to them. maybe through the stories we read we learn how to emphatize with others, knowing that the bells tolls for every each of us.