When I was younger, my favorite part of going to the beach was flying kites, the bigger the better. I loved that sense of being pulled into the air. At 79 I don’t fly kites anymore, but I still feel that pull when I watch flocks of shorebirds streak down the beach, burst into the sky,
swoop back over the water,
head back toward the water
only to settle back down a short distance from where they took off.
(There’s supposed to be a sentence here, but I didn’t like the way my first attempt sounded and I couldn’t come up with anything better, so this entry has been sitting here several days now and I don’t think I’m ever going to find a better way to say what I wanted to say no matter how long it sits here. So, I’m just going to post it with this gap in it. Perhaps you can find the perfect transition to the next sentence.) Feeling it second-handed keeps me grounded.