Saturday, April 21, 2012

At the Kite Festival Today

At the kite festival today I sat outside a coffee shop, reading, my eyes seduced upward by an enormous kite-fish someone had set swimming lumbrously, balloonishly skyward.  I sat with my sandals high up on a fence post, the sun making my hair feel hot, an April sky sprinkled with kites like the top of a birthday cupcake.  All holding steady in the wind: rainbowed boxes and triangles with tails pulling away in straight lines from unseen hands, hanging on unseen currents.  I thought of the lines, the thinnest of white hairs, just the suggestion of connectedness, the wish of intention, the string unfurled from want to am.  I wondered how the scene would look if the kites were invisible or just insignificant, if instead the lines were all.  I tried to imagine the giant fish dim, its dozens of carefully strung lines—looped and woven, tied and knotted—flashing out bright and wide-white against the blue.  I thought of the hundreds of people spread out below, each of them reaching out, a string mosaic, miraculously, intricately, criss-crossing space with their desire.  
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