kites

Very windy this morning when going out to get the paper. That is certainly not unusual this time of the year. Thinking of kites.

The winds which passed over my dwelling were such as sweep over the ridges of mountains, bearing the broken strains, or celestial parts only, of terrestrial music. The morning wind forever blows, the poem of creation is uninterrupted, but few are the ears that hear it.
Walden
Henry David Thoreau