From a dozen herring gulls careening off the windward cliffs, one peels off and carves a silver-tongued crescent from the cheek of the wind. Lifting her breast to break the momentum, the gull kites on the updraft, stiff-winged, an effortless rise, until she reaches apogee, a serene vantage. You follow her with your eyes. For a moment now your kite holds perfectly still. Careful: allow no slack in attention. For the string: imagine.