There have been many that took my heart, but, you, I remember best of all. The others before you were the small folded paper Dutch kites, and the little Deltas that were made from skewers and typing paper. Their bright wings and tails were like animated exclamation marks in the sky.
You were more stately and distinguished than other kites. Your face, like theirs, was small and bright. But nothing could compare to your great red swooping tail. I have had other snakes as long as you were, but they were plastic. Something about the material was not as graceful in the wind as your tissue paper. To put you and your sister, Yellow Girl, on the same line and revel in the dance was a truly artistic experience. You could have been named Fred and Ginger.
I remember the last day. There were torn and mended places on your tail already and some small circles where dew had stained you. These scars made you more distinguished like a veteran returning victorious from a daring campaign. The weeds had snatched at you many times, but they could not rip into you like the tree did. When it was over, I could only look at the shredded remnants and the broken frame and weep.
Perhaps someday there will be another great tissue paper snake soaring and dancing in the sky. I will name him after you: The Son of Red Viper.