Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

 in my pocket, thunder was heard rumbling; in the gathering gloom I noticed a kite in the sky, then more + more appeared  it seemed as if the boys flying them had lost control of them on the strings sagged low over the earth, I was able to gather them all together in my hand   The kites were falling, I gave the string a jerk and stepped back a few paces; they spring up in the air again radiating from my hand; I was considering whether to tie all the strings together for a joke when the six o’clock car whistled.  It seemed as if my duty was to see that all left