Kite

This sum­mer, Rose and I went to Bre­it­en­bush Hot Springs. There was a man there fly­ing a kite in vir­tu­ally no wind and sur­rounded by trees and branches. By sur­rounded I mean that he was fly­ing a kite in the trees. The was a lit­tle open­ing, where the walk­way went, but not much. So there he is at a calm dusk among the trees pulling on the string of the kite and cre­at­ing lift by his own move­ment. It was all back­wards and it was beau­ti­ful. He became the wind for his kite and the kite ducked and winked and luffed and sailed for him. He and the kite were danc­ing. I am not going to wax philo­soph­i­cal on this. It was just so cool and won­der­ful and point­less; and it was art.