I see

i watched a kite and his boy. i saw him set the line and angle the wings.

Go! Run! To the grips!

blonde hair bleached by the sun ran along the length of string, arms pumping beside him until he arrives, panting, at his post. Spinning away from the wind, he raises the grips to his chest and pulls with all his might. A moment's hesitation before the great blue and white canvas delta rises shakily into the sky. Air swells beneath it for a moment but fades quickly, and the kite falls gracefully back to the freshly cut grass.

Come back! My line needs straightening! I must face the winds! Hurry, before we miss the next gust!

run he does - again and again without lasting success until finally, back hunched in defeat, the small boy shoulders his massive flyer and trudges out of sight.

Don't worry. I loved it anway.