You feel the tug of the wind on the kite string. At last you have gotten it into the air. It’s almost bigger than you are, and it’s blue and black and white and pink and it floats and flies and dives. You wonder what it might be like to be up, up, up, on top of the kite, looking down. Seeing yourself, your own little figure looking up. Are you just another bug on the ground, just another black-topped head it sees from beyond? The wind pulls it, a primordial force, like something beyond all of time. You laugh. The tails, the tatters, all too soon the kite will come crashing down, its life depleted. But for now it hangs, buoyed by the air and the wind, and by the imagination of your mind.
A few months ago I started attempting to sketch. It was awful at first. This week I did my 60th sketch: Girl and Kite.
And a big “Hello!” out there to all my blogging friends who sketch! Thank you for the encouragement! (You know who you are!)