the lost man chronicles
17. less is more
As I was walking to the bus stop this morning I saw two high-flying objects in the sky. One seemed all-too normal, an airplane at 10,000 feet. The other, at first glance, I also thought to be a plane, but flying at a much lower altitude.
To my surprise I discovered upon much closer scrutiny that it happened to be a kite. A kite! at 6:30 in the morning. When half of the world was still asleep someone had decided to get up early to navigate the wind and fly a kite. How wonderful is that? Inspirational really.
Even if it was a glorious day for it—60 degrees, clear bright blue skies—I immediately wondered as to how old the captain of this airship could be, reasoning for an incredulous moment that it had to be a "kid."
But then I thought how the question of age was truly and totally irrelevant here. For, the older the better.
At any age this simple feat was a marvel of modern times, for someone had elevated this form of leisure to a task worthy of supplanting the arduous path to progress and "accomplishment." Sometimes less is more, and this incident seemed to speak to that bit of wisdom quite fluidly.
play, a conversation overheard .16 18. gusto