little kites and death (!)

I love kites. Up in the Lakes we wiled time away by soaring, diving and spinning Steves stunt kite. One time I climbed up a hill and watched the others play in the stormy weather. The little kite dashing about seemed like a rip or a tear in the fabric of the landscape- a dash of daring red. A kite up there high in the sky can be a picture for heaps of stuff I guess, but I love the thought that it is like the triumph over death that is ours because of Jesus. Who would think that a frail whisp of silk could dance about on the hinges of a massive weather diaster? Surely the wind would conquer it. But however mad the wind is the kite can always soar (if you have good kiting skills that is, otherwise you just get in a tangle.) Good for us that we don't have to have death fighting skills- that the victory over death is already won. Thank God, eh.