Wren and the Windmill Kite

Wren climbed up to the windmill door. She paced the steps: one, two, three, four.

Inside, in the dust and the sunbeam's glow, lay a kite with a tear and a tail hanging low.

'Poor kite,' said Wren, with a gentle sigh. 'I'll mend you so you can fly high!'

She took up the kite in her two careful hands and tucked it beside her paper maps and plans.

On the windmill floor, she measured the tear. Her pencil stub counted, with the most careful care.

She cut a new patch from a sheet of bright red, then tied on a ribbon of string for the thread.

She wove up the tail with a bow, bright and neat. The kite looked brand-new, from its top to its feet!

'It's ready!' said Wren. 'But I'd like a friend to help me, so this fun day has no end.'

Down the hill sat Nell, by the garden gate, her hat pulled down low, looking small as she sat.

'Come fly my kite,' said Wren. 'It's mended and new.' 'Oh,' whispered Nell, 'but I don't know what to do.'

'I might do it wrong,' Nell said, tucking her chin. 'You're not wrong,' said Wren. 'We'll just give it a spin! All you need is to try.'

Nell took a breath and looked up with a smile. 'Alright,' she said. 'I'll try for a while.'

They climbed to the field where the tall grasses sway. The breeze smelled of clover and warm summer hay.

Wren gave Nell the string with a gentle hand. 'Hold tight,' she said softly. 'I'll help you stand.'

Nell ran with the kite, her feet light and quick. She let go at the top with a sweet little flick.

Up, up went the kite, so happy and high! 'You did it!' cried Wren. 'Look! It's flying the sky!'

'I did it?' said Nell, with her eyes shining bright. 'You're the best at launching a kite!' said Wren with delight.

The two sat side by side, in the soft summer breeze, and watched the red tail dance high over the trees.

As the sun sank low and the sky glowed pink, they wound up the string, with a happy wink.

'Same time tomorrow?' asked Nell with a grin. 'Yes!' laughed Wren. 'Let the next fun begin!'