Just a photo of a good day, flying a kite with my sister in the Hebrides, earlier this summer.

There’s something incredibly relaxing - serene, even - about holding a kite in the air by a thin thread, straining up in the wind.

The familiar tension against your fingers as you let it play out until it is high above you and tiny; the innate, minute adjustments to your position to keep it aloft.

It’s like you’re capturing the wind - that, for the sake of a bit more material and a longer string, you could be whipped away to parts unknown, or if the gust vanishes, the kite could plummet to earth.

There’s something thrilling and universal about that little bit of excitement that lives on the border between control and lack of control.