Many Skies To Go

And the day opens up - no promise made or withheld.

This is life, they say.

I live... A kite spread on broomsticks and old 'nylon' material and strung from the length of joint strings that hold me to that poverty stricken adolescent boy, who looks up at weathered tassels and fancies himself to be me, borne by the wind, caught in flight. And as I look down from an age further advanced, I wish that I was the boy, innocent and blessed with a trusting unassumption.

This is life, they say.