T he summit of East Rock Park is a graveyard.
For kites.
Many flew too close to the sun. All flew too close to a branch.
For some, only ribbons remain—perhaps broken off during rescue attempts. Others rest whole, interred high within gnarled wooden tombs.
As another kite season begins, remember these fallen. These perpetually risen. These kites of East Rock. Then give yourself a buffer zone.
Written and photographed by Dan Mims.
