On Friday I walked up the great mound at Gas Works Park with my son and saw some children playing on the big sundial up there in the bright light. It was a good day for flying kites, though these kids were happy just splashing in a big puddle. Simple joys, though I’m not sure where the water was from as it hasn’t rained here for weeks. As A. A. Milne says, in his lovely little poem “Wind on the Hill,” “Nobody knows.” Which is just how I like it. (You may click on the images for a larger view.)
WIND ON THE HILL
No one can tell me,
Nobody knows,
Where the wind comes from,
Where the wind goes.
It’s flying from somewhere
As fast as it can,
I couldn’t keep up with it,
Not if I ran.
But if I stopped holding
The string of my kite,
It would blow with the wind
For a day and a night.
And then when I found it,
Wherever it blew,
I should know that the wind
Had been going there too.
So then I could tell them
Where the wind goes . . .
But where the wind comes from
Nobody knows.
Chris Bronsk 
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