Ava was flying the little red kite in the meadow when the string slipped, snip, right out of her hands. Up the kite floated, over the hedge, over the barn, into the top of the old plum tree. And that string had belonged to Grandpa.
"I wonder if I can pretend I didn't see," thought Ava. But that felt heavy and wrong. So she went inside and found Grandpa in his chair. "The kite got away," Ava said. "Your string went with it. I'm sorry."
Grandpa didn't frown at all. He gave a slow smile. "Kites always come down," he said. "We just have to wait and watch. Shall we?"
So they carried two little stools out to the plum tree and sat where they could see the red kite fluttering high in the leaves. "I wonder," said Ava, "when it will come loose."
"The wind decides that," said Grandpa. "Waiting is part of the fun."
The breeze came and went. A wood pigeon cooed. Ava wiggled and sighed. "I wonder if it will be soon," she said.
"Watch the tail," said Grandpa. The tail gave a little shiver.
They waited while the clouds slid by like slow white boats. They waited while a beetle walked across Ava's shoe. Ava kept her eyes on the red kite and did not rush it.
Then a big gust pushed through the plum tree. The kite tugged, wobbled, and floated free — down, down, spinning gently, landing right in the long grass at their feet.
Ava scooped it up. The string was tangled but not lost. "You waited so nicely," said Grandpa, and together they wound the string back onto its spool, round and round.
At bedtime Ava set the little red kite by the window where the moon could see it. "I wonder where the wind is going now," she murmured, pulling the blanket up warm.
Outside the plum tree rustled softly. The kite string lay coiled and neat. And Ava, watching the leaves nod, felt her eyes grow slow and heavy, and drifted off, quiet and content.