Remembering a day before today running free across the fields pulling on a string that rose high up where it was attached to a kite swaying in the wind. Simpler times. When the biggest concern was the force of the breeze, given that the kite would not be able to gain altitude without a good wind, so I had to run sometimes to give it an extra boost until it gained sufficient altitude in the swift currents of the higher atmosphere.
I was munching on a Dorito covered corn on the cob on the seaside town of Steveston when I saw people gathered from afar around a flotilla of kites hanging in the sky. The land there, where the river meets the ocean, is relatively flat near the shore, and great gusts of wind often blow from the Salish sea (aka the Pacific ocean).
I usually don't like to intrude on people who are having fun, but as this seemed a public event in a public space, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get high with those kites.
It was a relatively blustery day and people took advantage of the wind force to fly them near the shore. Most kites were staked to the ground, so it wasn’t necessary to actually hold on to the string. A few people were attempting to control their kites that were spinning wildly in the air.
What a simple expression of joy and humanity, I thought. We fly kites for the pleasure of it. To enhance the experience of life through play. How cool is that?
There was a celebration of the maritime history of the area, and some of the kites had the appropriate design for the occasion.
I don’t remember when precisely I stopped flying kites. One day, I guess, I flew my last kite and left that simple pleasure of childhood behind for a life of piracy in the high seas. ☠️
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