The next morning, Daniel could hardly wait. He hurried through breakfast, tucked his kite under his arm, and dashed to the park. The sky was clear again, but today the wind was even stronger, whispering as if it was inviting the kite to climb higher than before.
With his friends cheering, Daniel ran and let the string unroll, faster and faster, until the kite soared above the tallest trees, above the rooftops, almost brushing the drifting clouds.
“This is the highest yet!” Daniel laughed, staring up at the tiny red speck against the blue.
But then, at the very end of the spool, as Daniel leaned back with the string stretched tight, something happened. For just one second, he loosened his grip, just one second, and the string slipped right out of his fingers.
The kite was free.
It wobbled, surprised at first. Then, with a delighted shiver in its ribbons, it spread its paper wings and let the wind carry it away.
Across the town it floated, peeking into windows where families were having lunch, gliding past schoolyards where children pointed up in wonder, and soaring above the busy streets where buses looked no bigger than beetles. It drifted toward the edge of the city, where tall buildings gave way to golden fields, then over cliffs where the land crumbled into the endless sea.
The kite gasped, or at least, it felt as if it had. For below it lay the great ocean, rolling and sparkling like a giant sheet of glass. The air smelled of salt, the waves whispered secrets, and seabirds circled curiously as the kite drifted above them.
By nightfall, the world had changed. The sky deepened to navy blue, stars winked awake, and there, rising in the east, was the moon: round, glowing, beautiful.
“Oh, if only I could reach you,” the kite thought. It stretched its ribbons, searching for stronger winds, straining to climb higher. But the night air grew calm, and no gust came.
Slowly, the kite began to sink. Down and down it floated, farther and farther from the glowing moon, until it realised with a flutter of dread: it was heading straight for the dark ocean.
The waves gleamed silver beneath the moonlight. The kite closed its eyes, if a kite can close its eyes, and braced itself as it touched the water’s surface.
But just before it sank, it noticed something.
There, in the rippling black sea, was the moon’s reflection, shimmering and whole. The kite realised with wonder: it had reached the moon after all. Not in the sky, but in the mirror of the ocean.
And as it lay upon the gentle waves, cradled by the sea and kissed by starlight, the kite felt a deep, dreamy peace.
In its own way, it had flown to the moon.