Too Windy for Kites, And Yet

Driving home from church today,
I saw a woman clutching her young child to her breast,
bound up by coats and  mittens and scarves and hats,
standing in the middle of a field
while her young son knelt on the ground in front of her,
working the wooden dowel into the slots of his paper kite.
A whirl of leaves and wind
clouds and too-light birds
dancing, unchained, about him

It was hopeless, I knew
--for all three of them--
too cold, too windy, and a ball of string too measly
to keep things afloat

It was hopeless and yet I felt heartened.
For they showed up, didn't they?
With kite and string and child in hand.
They showed up, despite everything.

This, I thought, is the strength of the human spirit,
looking beyond everything that is in front of us,
plotting and plodding along, all the same.