Kites of the Mesosphere

You can barely, just barely see my rainbow kite, which is not a kite that I own, but I did flight it on my second attempt, on Sunday, at the Griffis Sculpture Park. For awhile, I allowed a pregnant sculpture to fly my kite, which was in at least the troposphere. Heather did not take a picture, because she was prioritizing.

Here is a picture Heather took of me echanting my kite, prior to flight. This was basically me, recognizing the kite's need for magic, so that it could enter the mesosphere without tribulations, which are bad for kites.



There is a different pregnant sculpture, in the background, offering encouragements, because she had probably seen lots of kites in her day, but kites to the moon was something she had never figured.



Heather was feeling uber patriotic after we killed the fuck out of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi with missiles this weekend, so she showed her pride with her choice of kite. At one point, I did manage to convince this kite not to go to Iraq, after running in a sprint for fifty yards, diving through the air and barely snatching the updrifting string in my nimble fingers. However, I did not allow anyone to pat me on the back, because I am humble. Although, I think I may have been given the thumbs up from a freshghostly al-Zarqawi, who was a secret fan of kites. Especially kites with terrors strapped to them.

Our kites were not hoisting any terrors, and so we were able to get ours very high into the sky.

Sunday in Western New York was a good circumstance for kites, I think. Two months ago, I had forgotten all about kites, or even the idea of fabric taut with sticks on a string in the wind as some sort of sunny day activity. Kites were inadvertently dead to me. Sorry, kites.

I stole all of these pictures from Heather, but I took some of them, too. Heather would have given me permission, if I would have bothered to ask.