There is a kite hung up on a powerline here outside the balcony of our apartment at the beach. It has been there for several days now, its shape shifting and changing. When it first got stuck there, its wings were taut and splayed. It looked like a flying bird, arrested and stilled in midflight. Or a butterfly, perhaps, wings spread wide. It would seem to soar when it caught the wind.Several days later and it hangs limply like a handkerchief held up in the middle. It takes up half the space, with its kite wings folded in on itself. The wind still lifts it but it lifts a limp bat or a dead butterfly and it no longer soars.
Yet it still clings to this powerline – still hangs there tenaciously. It may never fall – just like the plastic bag on a tree back in Queens that has grown with the tree through so many years of so many violent seasons, so much so that that tree and plastic bag would seem to never be parted. So it may be with that kite and that powerline.