Pipas, small paper kites with narrow wooden frames, were skillfully guided by boys and men along the beaches of Rio de Janeiro. The colorful pentagons dotted the sky.

Were the kites used to compete? Which one was highest or traveled the farthest? Or was partaking in the kites’ flight enough to please their guardians?

I hear that there are those who attach razor blades to their kites, as they fight in the sky.  No blood is shed.  An alternative to war.

Later that day, having ridden in a trolley car up the steep hills to Santa Teresa, I purchased a pipa in a small hardware store to bring home and hang on my wall. I felt some regret that my kite was not destined to fly.