It's in the park just up the road
Strolling through Ritan Park, I happen upon a group of old guys whiling away an autumn afternoon in the warm zephyr that's blowing through Beijing. Around a dozen of them have gathered along one side of the Temple of the Sun to fly kites, shoot the breeze, and chain-smoke a pack of cigarettes each. I'm found and lost all at once - drifting away in the sheer peace of the moment.
Drama ebbs and flows as one kite almost crash-lands out of sight but the oldest of the crew is called in to save the day, which he does with effortless skill. He grins toothlessly and deflects words of admiration before sparking up another ciggie and returning to the serious business of catching the wind.
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