This kite is from Shanghai, but I’ve only flown it in Florida at Siesta Key. The sand here is as white and soft as rice flour.

The squid is silk, roughly cut, with pen markings where the maker trimmed it into shape. It’s so easy to raise. Surging and bug-eyed against a blue sky, the sun’s light makes it glow hotly. It’s an impossible red.

We get here early. The squid greets the caravans of beachgoers as they trudge forward toward the water, slowly crowd the shoreline.

They notice the string first, then follow the line up. They smile, gape, and comment. The squid swims where we can’t.