On the grassy knoll, beyond the orchard, a warm wind carries my kite high. Like a spider’s web laden with morning dew, the string sags under its own weight.   I lie in the grass and feel the wind’s gentle tug.  The sky is a canopy, my kite a mere red dot on a blue expanse, lost, like my thoughts, among the billowing clouds.

distant surf…
a constant
timepiece