On a sky of endless blue dabbed with feathery white, a puny sky-diving kite writes a fancy curlicue. A rising tiny voice seems to alter its course: a gentle nudging force. What a moment to rejoice! Shielding my rolling eyes against the blinding sun I follow its reckless run to read each plunge and rise. As the ribboned tail breaks into a W the wind puts on screw and transcribes it into Braille. A Y in a single stroke followed by an e and s, that’s an easy one to guess and also beyond revoke. (zoomwawah) The flight becomes erratic the kite is hauled home. Its signs are now phonetic it’s less free to roam. (zoomwah) How nice it is to write on a sky blue and bright answers which may stupefy to question