A darkly-tanned man with long grayish curls closed up his last cabana, then with flip-flops scuffing clouds of sand he approached us and held out a brightly coloured kite. He smiled a broad, wrinkled grin and said no one had come back for it that day and wouldn't we like to try it? We thanked him enthusiastically as we had only come to view the sunset for a moment. My husband unraveled the long line, ran and sent that yellow bird up into the perfect breeze created just for kite-flying. He showed the kids how to hold the line and race against the wind. They jumped up and down scuffing their own clouds of sand. They each took a turn but Oliver spent the longest time mastering the fine art of releasing string and finding the right elevation for successful flying. The sun danced in colour across the sky and its warmth healed these frost-bitten Canadians. One final crash and we packed it in for the night. A borrowed kite had gifted us with a harmonious memory when the sun, sand and a toy each played its part in a perfect evening on the beach.
