ON THE DAY I schedule kite making for my summer camp kids it’s pouring. During a break in the showers we hurry outside to see if we can catch a breeze.
The last time I flew a kite I was maybe a little older than some of my students. I was at the Marina in San Francisco. It was windy and proper for flying a kite. Here the air is still. The clouds rest in the knuckles of the mountains. An old woman, an ajumma, approaches us and asks for a kite from one of my students. She takes off running with it behind her and it’s the first and only time all day that anyone’s kite makes it off the ground. My students are giggling after two frustrating hours with BBQ skewers and tape.
The rain doesn’t fall.