...the beach waits like an altar...

...it was different that time
with Ezio Pinza flying a kite.
Maybe, after all, he knew something more
and was right.
- Anne Sexton (1928?1974), U.S. poet. excerpts from ?The Kite.?


He waited. Waited until the sun set and the moon took its turn. He waited for light to turn to deep shades of purple and black. He waited until the bustle of the day quieted to evening solitude. He waited until just before solitude would turn to isolation.

The lone figure walked the streets and road leading to the Yearling Brook upon purposeful strides. One arm was laden with a long wrapped package and a small sack was slung over one shoulder. Evening breeze sent the branches rustling. Up in the sky, not a cloud threatened, leaving the moon and her court of stars unveiled.

He reached the gate and offered quiet word to the guard for the Baroness. Free hand then slipped into his pocket. He carried no blaster. Not this evening. This night would be a night of fanciful flight and quiet discussion.

To the soul, there is hardly anything more healing than friendship.
- Thomas Moore Irish poet (1779 - 1852)


He smiled.

Smiled as her expression turned from surprise to suspicion. Smiled as she voiced her initial denial, then voiced the possibility. Smiled as tempered melancholy lifted, if only for the moment, from her eyes and smile and lit up with amusement. He smiled and nodded.

"That all depends now. What do you think it is?" Before she could reply, Lucien nodded to the door and beckoned her out of the manor. "Come take a walk with me and maybe, just maybe, I might reveal what this is," his smile tugged to a teasing grin.

The barrister waited for Sylvia to retrieve and don her cloak then offered his free arm to her. "So what new adventure did you fill your day with today?"

Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.
Sir Winston Churchill British politician (1874 - 1965)


A wry grin lit on the barrister's features at Sylvia's teasing jab. Grin grew to a smile as she spoke about the children. Lucien was glad to listen as they walked under the silver light of the moon and stars. His gait was casual as they strolled toward the sandy shore. There was no need to hurry. There was richness in the journey, as much as the destination.

Ice blue gaze moved from it's wandering across the night sky's yawn over the horizon at her mention of the Baron. He watched her attempts to reign in hair of black that the evening breeze mussed. He listened to the intonation of her voice, as she spoke. He watched eyes of violet lift to look upon the night sky. He smiled once more when she turned her query to him.

"My day was rather uneventful," he offered, in and of itself a small wonder. "Was focused on this one task I just couldn't leave for later. And before I knew it, the day was passed to evening."

He turned his attention back to the road and moreso the night sky once again. "I supposed you can say I spent the day,... daydreaming. Dreaming of fanciful things," he went on, an easy grin tugging unevenly on his mien. "Adventurous things...pirates and pixies and alligators and sword fights and a far away island." His tone took on a far away measure and a boyish gleam lit in his gaze when they returned to rest upon Sylvia. "And of course...flight. Can't have an adventure without flight."

Memory feeds imagination.
- Amy Tan, US novelist


Grin settled into a smile at Sylvia's mention of the story. The tale was one that had been shared with the barrister by a sable-eyed, orphanage visiting storyteller. Smile sounded into an easy chuckle at a long ago memory of the barrister, the storyteller and a passerby battling unseen pirates in the streets in front of the Red Dragon Inn. Chuckle quieted to a wry grin. "Did you not know, Sylvia? I *am* Peter Pan, leading the Lost Boys in all manner of adventures," he proclaimed smugly.

He shied the package away as she leaned for another inspection of the package he carried, chuckling at her query. Lucien had little doubt that Sylvia had figured out what it was he carried back at the manor. Nevertheless he offered her no confirmation nor obvious answer regarding the package. Instead, he went on about his 'daydreams'.

"Aye, Lass!" He took on a put on pirate voice for added effect. "'Twas a grand adventure, it be! With skies o' blue overhead and waters pristine belo'." He went on, tying together a great sweeping epic out of rambling details. "It's path stretched out over the clouds, wings held out at its sides. Then suddenly it rode another current and dipped in a spiraling dive, screaming toward the waters." Details that provided clues that might have spoken of a kite's flight, but just as easily might have been a dragon or a bird's flight. Intonations rose and quieted to animate the tale, coloring it with breath and shadows. Carefree was the telling. Light hearted the tale. The burdens of duty and weights of troubles would stayed at least until morning.

It wasn't much longer before the crash of waves upon the shore could be heard in the distance. The smell of the ocean waters was the next to greet them. The barrister's telling quieted as the landscape changed and the dunes rolled up before them. Lucien glanced over at Sylvia and smiled. "Are you ready to fly?"

Imagination is the highest kite one can fly.
- Lauren Bacall, American actress


?Yes, Peter,...I do think I am."

There was no spoken reply to her answer. Just a warm smile and a nod to himself.

The long wrapped package was carefully laid down on the sand. Next the sack was dropped from his shoulder. An amusement hinted on the barrister's neatly trimmed features as he watched Sylvia reign in her curiosity and stay her anxious fingers. He drank in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the salty, cool, night air, letting it wash a calm over his countenance.

A teasing grin chased his calm expression. "Make no mistake about it. I am Peter Pan," he announced quietly against the breaking waves. He lent his head toward Sylvia, rolling up his sleeves and whispered his conspiratorial reply, "Let us see if we can take flight, before there is any crowing. Now, new Lost Boy, let's get this adventure off the ground."

He reached into the sack, removed a spool of string with grip handles on either side of and tossed it over to her. He knelt down on the sand and pulled out a second spool. Next he pulled out a canteen. "Some cider since adventuring is such a thirsty endeavor," he explained reaching into the sack once more. Next he pulled out a few items wrapped in wax paper. "Some sandwiches, since adventuring requires a lot of energy." Lucien chuckled as he repacked the canteen and sandwiches. Yes, he was dragging the unveiling out as long as he could. It was what older brothers did to kid sisters afterall.

Finally, the sack was set aside and he unwrapped the package. Nestled in the canvas wrapping were two bundles made of lightweight wood framing and silk. 'Peter's' mien lit up as he pulled out one of the bundles and carefully unfolded it. He nearly beamed as he held up the kite to Sylvia. "Time to fly."

See the wild birds on the wing,
Hear the bells that sweetly ring...
- Frank Lebby Stanton (1857?1927), U.S. poet. Keep a-Goin? (l. 23?24). .


"Wings of my own."

The evening winds carried her whispered words to his ears. Out of his periphery, he watched her inspection and hold of the kite. The winds beckoned. The kite answered with restrained quiver, anxious to ride the currents of air and soar across the heavens. "Wings of silk," he whispered under his breath as he took out the other kite.

?I am ready to fly, and if you do not hurry, I may beat you to it.?

Lucien grinned as he tethered the kite with practiced ease with the other spool of string. "So, Lost Boy, you think you can beat me? Don't you know? Peter Pan is unbeatable," he proclaimed, throwing down the proverbial gauntlet, holding to things carefree. To free his friend, his sister, from the bindings, anchoring her to the ground was his only concern. The whispering of his own burdens and the roar of his own rage were silenced.

Spool and kite were held securely in one hand as he rose up from his knees. Lucien drew another deep breath, drinking in the night air. Ice blue gaze turned toward the starlit sky as he measured the cool breeze and the moon's perch in the twinkling canvas. He took a few steps toward the water's edge, just shy of the wave's break upon the shore. Another deep breath and a crooked grin bid Sylvia to flight.

"Now all we need are faith and trust," 'Peter' remarked as he placed his kite on the ground and secured the spool in the sand. "And we shall ride on the wind's back," he promised reaching for Sylvia's kite to help launch it.

Now I am light, now I fly, now I see myself beneath myself, now a god dances through me.
- Friedrich Nietzsche (1844?1900), German philosopher. Friedrich Nietzsche, S?mtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe, vol. 4, p. 50, eds. Giorgio Colli and Mazzino Montinari, Berlin, de Gruyter (1980). Zarathustra, in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, First Part, ?On Reading and Writing,? (1883).


Wings of silk took flight, carried upon unseen currents of air. Lucien took a few steps back, following the kite's rise. And he smiled, admiring it's continued reach toward the heavens, cast in a sheen of silver by the moon. Ice blue gaze traced the kite's tether to Sylvia and watched her hold onto her wings. He would have sworn that she was carried up on the back of the winds along with the kite.

"Lucky, let no one tell you that flying kites by moonlight is not a worthwhile cause."

He smiled and nodded to himself at her breathed confession, offering no reply for the moment. Instead, wordlessly, he picked up the other kite and walked several paces away from Sylvia. He laid the kite down on the sand, positioning it carefully and unspooled a measure of string. The kite fluttered on the ground as the winds teased over it. He took a running start and jerked on the string, picking up the kite off the sand and letting the wind catch it. A few strides were all he needed before his own set of wings took to the heavens.

Higher and higher it rose, carried further and further away. Every dip and swirl of the air currents reverberated down the string and echoed against his fingertips. The silk kite skipping over the currents as he coaxed it through the winds. Higher and higher it continued to rise, stretching for the stars above it. And with it, so did his spirits.

Lucien came to stand near Sylvia, his gaze following each bounce and sway of their kites. His tone was hushed and light, matching his grin. "I told you that you'd become a believer once you've experienced it." The kite string was given another tug, a slight change in pressure of his fingertip against the lengthening tether. "Can't have an adventure without flight," he reiterated in the same hush.