| | I can't let go, its unnatural (part 4 of 4)As we traced the shore farther along, we came to an old iron bridge that crossed a small inlet into the Delaware. The city stopped here, but the kite was farther on up. We locked our bikes along the side of the bridges handrail and headed off into the brush. It felt like, for the first time we had caught a break; someone had carved out nature trails along the shore here. If I were to spend months creating and maintaining hiking trails, the outskirts of Camden would not have been my first choice but at that moment I was glad that someone had thought to do it. We weren't the only ones who were glad that they had carved out and preserved this little spot of nature, as the abandoned shells of cars that were dumped here and there along the trails had saved at least a couple of people the cost of having their car towed to the dump. The first car we past, completely covered with the red-brown of rust, was covered in bullet holes, as if a machine gun had open fired while it drove by. Both out of concern for our safety, and the excitement of feeling that we were nearing our goal, we took off running, only to resume our walking pace and catch our breath minutes later. And repeat.
Finally, after hours of chasing this kite, we spotted it, caught high atop one of the trees that extended out over the river. Without hesitation, Zach shimmied the tree. You have to understand, the reason we went kite flying in the first place was because of how intense the wind was that day. And so as Zach got farther out along the branches, the wind's effect grew exponentially, tossing him like the lure at the end of a fly fishing rod. My heart raced. Zach extended his spindly arm, and grabbed firm onto the kite. With a tug he wrenched it from the clutches of the tree and tucked it into his pants as he climbed down. I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Dislodging the kite from his pants he squeezed it in his right hand, and we gave each other a big man-hug, the rainbow colors of our kite curling and flapping around us, the sun setting across the horizon, painting the sky the color of a fresh bruise, and my bicycle helmet securely fastened on my head.
The End.
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| | Posted 6/29/2007 1:59 AM - 0 comments
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