I liken my life to that of a kite –
the one that’s constructed, that is, not the avian kind.
As the years progress, the kite string slowly extends;
the kite survives, through both storm and fine weather.
Sometimes the string is taut and straight,
the kite riding high and proud in the sunshine.
Sometimes the string flexes and curls,
the kite tossed around in the welter of life’s passion.
Of late I have developed an awareness of another,
almost imperceptible string on the kite,
pulling at a tangent, away from the origin.
This string is gentle, and malleable;
forgiving, as unconsciously I pull against it.
But daily, imperceptibly, it grows in strength
until I feel the need consciously to observe it.
My eye is drawn to this second string,
following its trajectory down through the clouds
to its destination. A finite destination.
I begin to understand what this destination is,
and what it means to me.
I surrender my eyes, and my heart,
to following the string’s inexorable pull.
I embrace the realisation that it is
inevitably drawing me home,
And the kite can gradually lower,
in the light cast towards it from the end.
Just me and my maker. Like the day I was born.