Did St. Patrick ever fly a kite?

The snow falling this morning is Winter white. Mother Nature has failed to provide appropriately green snow on St. Patrick's day. In fact, she has failed to uncover any of our fields or show even hints of green so far. We'll have to make do with ☘☘☘☘☘☘☘☘.  That's enough to wish one and all a Happy St. Patrick's Day! and exclaim Éirinn go Brách!

March: kite over the St. Croix

Photo by J. Harrington

This upcoming week may finally free our local fields of snow cover, and free us to soar into solid Spring breezes instead of howling Winter winds. We keep threatening to get and learn to fly a dragon kite.

“… No country in Europe is so associated with the Serpent as Ireland, and none has so many myths and legends connected with the same… “Irish Druids and Old Irish Religions– James Bonwick, 1894. 

Maybe this will be the year. Maybe we'll change our mind and go for an octopus kite. instead. Maybe the snow won't melt until the breezes of Spring are gone and the heat of Summer arrives the next day. Spring in the North Country is such an intermittent and short-lived affair most years. But this may be the year to stand in readiness and be prepared despite white snow and no sign of shamrocks nor 4-leaf clovers this St. Patrick's Day. Ah, well, we've still soda bread, corned beef and cabbage, and Seamus Heaney to help celebrate the day. That'll have to do, for now, won't it?

A Kite for Aibhin

Seamus Heaney, 1939 - 2013

After “L’Aquilone” by Giovanni Pascoli (1855-1912)

Air from another life and time and place,
Pale blue heavenly air is supporting
A white wing beating high against the breeze,

And yes, it is a kite! As when one afternoon
All of us there trooped out
Among the briar hedges and stripped thorn,

I take my stand again, halt opposite
Anahorish Hill to scan the blue,
Back in that field to launch our long-tailed comet.

And now it hovers, tugs, veers, dives askew,
Lifts itself, goes with the wind until
It rises to loud cheers from us below.

Rises, and my hand is like a spindle
Unspooling, the kite a thin-stemmed flower
Climbing and carrying, carrying farther, higher

The longing in the breast and planted feet
And gazing face and heart of the kite flier
Until string breaks and—separate, elate—

The kite takes off, itself alone, a windfall.

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