It's that time again.

One of the most beautiful things I've ever seen was a Uruguayan sky in the middle of March. For easter all of the kids make their own kites, there are special patterns and colors for boys and for girls. The month before easter the whole wide sky is filled with kites pulling on strings, eager to touch the clouds. They play a game where they try and knock each other kites out of the sky and when one falls, they all run to the crash sight. One of my favorite memories is walking along the train tracks, behind all the poorest houses, and seeing 100 dirty little kids sitting back on their haunches with a roll of string in their hands, everyone looking up into the colored dots against the blue sky. I remember once my dad and I let a kite go from the edge of our garden. We tied a message to the tail with our address, hoping that someone would write back. A few weeks later, we were riding our bikes down by the river, and we found the tattered old kite beneath some weeds in the mud. The message was gone. Sometimes still I wonder where my letter fell, who read the words. I like to think that still, someday, things like that come back to us.