About the work

The kite was a gift, chosen mostly for its particular shade of blue. It was not a good kite for this wind, or for this field, but it was what he had. He had tried to get it up earlier in the day, when the wind was calmer, but it had just flopped in the stubble, defeated. Now, the wind had picked up, and the cold was starting to bite, but the kite was aloft. It was a victory, small and fleeting, but a victory nonetheless. The blue of the kite, against the fading light, was a defiance. It was a colour that shouldn’t be there, at this time of day, in this place. It was the last blue light.