The Lost Kite

One sunny afternoon, Maya's red kite slipped from her fingers and rode the wind over the rooftops.

She followed it past the bakery, where the baker pointed a floury hand toward the market. She followed it past the market, where a fruit seller nodded toward the river. She followed it to the river, where an old fisherman was already untangling a red paper wing from his net.

"It came to me," he said, "so I suppose it was looking for someone."

Maya carried the kite home, and every time she flew it after that, she tied the string twice — once for the wind, and once for luck.