We asked at the kite stall on Maple Street why the ribbons looked so busy. The keeper, Mrs. Pell, held up a notebook no bigger than a postage stamp. "The tails were guessing," she said. "Now they keep notes. Kind wind gets a star. Pushy wind gets a polite reminder to try again tomorrow."
A rumor on the bench said the diaries were for weather complaints. They are not. One entry, shown with permission, read: "South breeze brought the smell of bakery. Thank you. Please visit again after lunch."
By evening the kites come down, and the tails gather on the shop windowsill. They read the day's pages aloud toward the sky. The clouds lean in, a little pink, as if being praised for something they almost forgot they did.