August Tales from the Garden and the Sea

My garden is a refuge and a source of endless delights, even without a side fence removed for the month-long, very noisy construction of a neighbor's swimming pool next door.  The bees in the crape myrtle tree sound almost like those of my Grandma's - from her linden tree. The birds are busy flittering from side to side of the garden, drinking water or picking on my green grapes. The rabbits - yes I have two wild rabbits, or rather wild hares living in thickets under the bushes - nibble on grass blades in the shade, hop around to explore, stop to look at me with the black beady eyes, somewhat curious, but utterly unafraid. They trained us, humans, well, these hares. The dog next door guards them from coyotes, the kids give them carrots. Perfection!  I tried to write a poem about the hare, but it turned into a short story...

When I go out to the front porch in the morning, I am startled by enormous white wings of the great egret spreading out right in front of me. The stream in the wash dried out. We do not poison our yards with toxins. Egrets, hares, and a flotilla of birds come over to eat and drink, enjoy the mini-Eden... Did I mention that there are plenty of bees? Mason bees?

Mason Bees

I share my roses with the mason bees –

Iceberg leaves they like the best, cutting

circles and ellipses from the edge, inwards.

 

Iceberg roses, not iceberg lettuce, mind you,

that’s far too crunchy to make soft beds, wrapping

bee babies in green, white or pink silkiness,

 

smooth and pliable like we ought to be, smiling

under the merciless gale of time, raging river

flowing backwards, always backwards.

 

I used to get angry looking at my mutilated

roses – white blossoms, a defense against evil

guarding my front door like bee soldiers in the hive

 

ready to sacrifice their lives – just one sting

and the miniature fuzzy warrior’s gone – having

lived just to protect and serve us, the worker bees,  

 

buzzing around our lives, cutting circles and

ellipses in white roses. Bees and humans, we are

all children of the Queen Bee, Gaia, our Mother.

 

We make honey of our kindness, virtues, character

wisdom, self-reliance. Attentive, focused on the next

perfect circle, semicircle or ellipsis – we breathe deeply,

 

delight in drinking nectar, carrying pollen of emotions,

sights, impressions – flying back home to make the sweetest

gold, translucent honey of our poems, of our dreams.

 

Published in the California Quarterly 47 no 2 summer 2021

On Thursday Afternoon

Your voice outside my window –

deep, calm flowing inexorably like a river

towards the future we will not know until 

we look back and the past and say:

So that’s what you meant. So, that’s what it was.

Understanding the whole of the whole

that encircles us in a glowing sphere of 

emotions – forgiveness, radiance, joy

of the fleeting moment, The present.

The golden line of a mockingbird song 

weaves in and out of time – I follow

its ornamental thread into the present – 

space opened up by gratitude

blossoming in a smile. 

Sparrows in the birdbath, jet planes

in the sky, hummingbird’s wings, 

the dove’s shadow passing over the lawn

and chimes playing endless variations

of the same melody over and over

until all time ends and we are back

in that singularity beyond all spatiotemporal 

emanations, back in One Love of One 

Mind, One Will, One – Us.

On day trips to the beach, I see sea-gulls, pelicans and sand-pipers when I walk along the sandy expanse. It is the waves and the water that I'm most interested in, the endless soothing rhythm, the untamed energy.  Life itself.  The light that scatters on the surface, the play of the elements - earth, water, air, wind, fire...

The Glow of Forgiveness

Like a mountain stream over rocks,

wearing them out droplet by droplet,

forgiveness flows inexorably to its 

dissolution in the blessed serenity

of living waters of the presence,

knowledge, charm. 

Infinitely self aware and infinitely grateful,

you the forgiving one are also forgiven – 

all limitations removed, all rubble of past 

misfortunes cleared to reveal a smooth expanse

of  sunlit ocean – gold and silver, topaz and jade 

with a sprinkling of diamonds shimmering 

on glass smoothness, scattering around you 

as you float on the surface, resting beyond 

sorrow, beyond pain, beyond time.

I wrote Aquamarine a while back and sent to Carole Boyce, she liked it and included in the "Blue and the Blues" anthology that she published in January 2021. It is a wonderful anthology, and I'm pleased to add some shades of blue to its rainbow.

Aquamarine

lucid

          lucent

                      translucent

                                waves of the Pacific 

 jade, turquoise, aqua

sea foam                in the air                

                sea foam             on my skin

I dance on the currents 

       floating with the relentless motion

          to the shore 

                          to the shore

                                             to the shore

sea foam           on my skin

           sea foam                    in the air

Aphrodite comes up from the ocean

               carried on a dazzling shell by dolphins  

                                                      the wisest of creatures

lucid

            lucent

                              translucent

fizzy bubbles on my tongue – 

                        I swim in the champagne ocean

Salt of the Sol – sunshine of vitality

                                   I praise the elemental power of Water –                                                   

Air – Wind – Earth – Fire

                                     always Fire – ogień, Agni

eternal flames stir the waves 

          into dancing 

                    to the shore 

                             to the shore 

                                        on and on

                                 to the shore

                                                              to the shore

                                                                          to the shore

(c) 2020 by Maja Trochimczyk

Published in "Blue and the Blues" anthology edited by Carole Boyce

Greening the Green, or on Summer in the Garden

What better place to live in than a garden, in the mountains, away from the bustle of the city? That's why the Paradise, Eden, was a garden - nature shaped, nurtured and cared for by people. My garden is my hermitage, my refuge, my "safe place" that we hear so much about everywhere these days. "Safe" - because I made it safe for all the winged and four-legged visitors, even two wild hares that hide under the rosemary bushes when not nibbling on the grass. Dozens of birds and lizards take care of insects, so I do not need to spray toxins on the living plants. Their green hues vary from jade to emerald, always reminding me that the "heart chakra" is green, for unconditional love is "green" and plants give all fauna nourishment and healing, not just the oxygen we need to breathe...

Here, Here, Here

I love my mountains —

blue and spring green still

under clear azure expanse.

Their velvet pleats pile up

in layers above the valley.

Rocky paths entwine 

in empty riverbeds.

This is the Earth—naked

free of trees and houses, of rush

and pavement and cars on hot asphalt

in LA summers—this is

pure repose—serenely breathing

in the cycle of centuries.

I love my mountains—

bluish shadows on distant slopes,

manzanita and sage scattered 

on those close by—they open

like curtains into infinity to let me in,

beyond the next peak, the next canyon,

into new worlds revealed under cool 

glow of spiraling galaxies before dawn.

I found my life waiting for me 

under the indigo cupola outlined 

with deep purple at the ridges—

where crickets measure the night 

as they sing "we are here, here, here..." 

while birds sleep, hidden 

among branches.

Only the distant waves of truck noise

from the freeway remind me

that this paradise of mine

this magic, fluid, living, folding 

and unfolding is my LA home —

my own LA LA Land, sheltered 

by spring mountains, blossoming

in mellow light of the kindest of Suns.

Our community lost a great person, a wonderful volunteer and kind, thoughtful, quiet, insightful friend. Halina Wojcik helped with the Polish Film Festival and cooked fantastic dishes. She was born in the village in Poland that was a couple of kilometers from my Grandma and Grandpa's village. So even in California we were neighbors... 

Our Halina

~ Halina Wójcik in memoriam

She was quiet, she was nice, 

too nice – not one to climb onto a pedestal 

and scream “Look at me! Me, me, me  — me!”

Hard to spot in a crowd, yet impossible to forget, 

with the warmth of her open, glowing heart.

She was quiet, thoughtful, kind. You could 

trust her words of wisdom, full of insight, charm.

She would tell you what you did not know

about yourself, all the good things she noticed 

and you missed – stuck in the quicksand of 

ambition, deluded by a mirage of false light.

Yes, attentive and discreet, she did not share 

her observations, if the faults were harmless,

vices – plain ridiculous, without guile. 

She was helpful, she was sweet – liked 

to welcome guests at a Polish gala, cook 

gourmet meals for strangers, friends.

She was calm, delightful, witty – loved 

by all she laughed with – children, pets, 

fancy ladies in high heels and pearls.

You could count on her when you felt –  

feathers ruffled – out of place in your life.

With one word, she’d set you straight.

How is it that such calm, steady brightness 

is not cherished more, when shining? Not until 

it disappears in the shadows of long night? 

Let’s remember her wry amusement 

with life’s follies, skillful hands of kitchen magic, 

lively sparkle in her smiling, ageless eyes! 

Let’s all cheer our lovely angel – 

Hali, Hali, Halina!

© February 2021 by Maja Trochimczyk

As president of California State Poetry Society, editor of California Quarterly and of the Poetry Letter, I get unsolicited books for review. I has a strange reaction to reading one of the submissions, and decided to put my thoughts into a poem, instead of a proper book review. It would not have been kind if I wrote that review, anyway.

On Reading Gail Wronsky in this Universe

 

Your blindness is self-inflicted, oh, teacher of generations,

hobbled by erudition – the blind leading the blind –

into the abyss – I’d like to say, but, no, just into a ditch

by the wayside, right next to the straight, white, sandy road

leading due East. As in Easter, or better still, the Sun Rising.

 

How not to see the world as dying, shrouded in a fog of sophistry?

You simply have to stop cursing. You only have to bless it. Your words

transmute the air you breathe, crystallize in your water.

 

Have you ever looked at the Sun, oh, poet of a thousand metaphors,

ten thousand accolades? Have you ever listened to that quiet voice,

wordlessly singing Hosanna? The Sun is Born. The Light so Bright.

The rays so full of little hands touching, caressing, smoothing out

each particle of matter twirling in its allotted space?

 

Yes, I know, you have your themes – Apocalypse, aging, loss,

despair, genitalia…Yes, I know, everything has its price.

But how can you be so blind? Oh, poet of poets, the blind

leading the blind – into the abyss, I’d like to say, but, no,

into a ditch by the wayside.

                                                                                                                                               

The path widens. Serene sages with sky-clear eyes

shine as lucid facets of endless, rotating crystal,

the living gem of our well-ordered Cosmos –

ruby, garnet, coral, amber, topaz, jade, emerald,

turquoise, sapphire, lapis-lazuli, amethyst and diamond

light streams swirl around the pilgrims, wrap them

in auroras of the sublime. Their rainbow bodies glow

golden-white – incandescent in morning sunshine.

 

Each one – a spark of the Divine, dressed in quarks

of the Divine Matter, for a test of the Divine Mind,

on an artery of the Divine Heart, along the ascending

road into the Divine Presence – all are jewels in the Divine

Crown – of the Here, of the Now, of We Are –

             Reprinted from the "Poetry Letter" No. 2, 2021

It is quite a feat to write love poems while living alone, after two divorces, in an empty nest. It is a nest full of birds and sunlight, so it is a great site for an imaginary romance. 

  This Afternoon

   You are the music while the music lasts.

               ~ T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding

The woodpecker measures time by the thickness

of tree trunks. Birds make nests, hidden from

hawks, safe from scrub jays. We wake in sunlight,

with twirling patterns still under our closed eyelids.

We listen to high-pitched calls of hummingbirds,

the random flutter of wings. We breathe in spring air

with smoothly flowing melodies of birdsong,

the sweetest of nectars. Waves crash on distant shores

of the Pacific. Stars appear dimly above the horizon,

that glows with the bronzed orange of departing Sun.

We live on the planet of children’s laughter.

We watch refractions of light in my sapphire ring,

on diamond dew drops that cling to blades of grass,

half-opened roses. We live on Earth of abundance

and beauty. We live on Earth of plenitude and calm.

There are no sorrows here, no worries.

No before, nor after. No plans. We take deep

breaths, count to eight, inhaling smiles to the tips

of our fingers, into our toes. I laugh. You laugh.

Crystalline peals echo through the Universe –

from galaxy to galaxy, star to star.

We grow and grow – infinite, gentler, wiser –

we understand all, embrace all, know all.

Perfection. Presence. Light.

(C) 2020 from Rose Always - A Love Story (rev. 2020)  

                                             

New e-book edition of "The Rainy Bread: Poems from Exile" with 30 new poems!

 

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/12jyvn85

ISBN 978-1-945938-01-6

Enlarged edition, April 2021

The Rainy Bread: Poems of Exile, a poetry collection by Maja Trochimczyk has been enlarged by 30 poems and reorganized into six parts. An updated e-book is available. The book now includes 60 poems about forgotten stories of Poles living under the Soviet and German occupation during WWII, especially in the Eastern Borderlands of Kresy. They were killed, deported, imprisoned, or oppressed after the invasion of Poland by Germany on September 1, 1039 and by the invasion by the Soviet Union on September 17, 1939. Some of these brief portraits capture the trauma and resilience, ordeals and miraculous survival stories of the author’s immediate family. Their experiences of displacement, hunger, cold, and poverty during the war are typical of Polish civilians. 

Author's Grandma Maria Wajszczuk, b. Wasiuk (1906-1973)

These fictionalized fact-based memories are coupled with depictions of survival of other Poles deported to Siberia, the Arctic Circle, or Kazakhstan; those left the Soviet Union with the Second Corps of the Polish Army under the command of General Władysław Anders; those who were transported to refugee camps in India or Africa; and ended up in Argentina, Canada, Australia or the U.S.

A monument to Polish civilians shot by Germans during Warsaw Uprising.

The book is a companion to “Slicing the Bread” (2014), with which it shares some poems, including vignettes from the author’s childhood in Warsaw. Organized into six parts - Destinations, Nowhere, Hunger Years, Resilience, There and Back, What Remains, the updated book follows a trajectory of descent into the hell of deportations, imprisonment, hunger, mass murder, and ascent into resilience and survival. The dark rain of sorrow changes into the diamond rain of delight with life.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Maja Trochimczyk, Ph.D., is a Polish American poet, music historian, photographer, and author of seven books on music, most recently “Gorecki in Context: Essays on Music” (2017) and “Frédéric Chopin: A Research and Information Guide” (co-edited with William Smialek, rev. ed., 2015). She currently serves as the President of the California State Poetry Society, managing editor of the California Quarterly, and President of the Helena Modjeska Art and Culture Club in Los Angeles, promoting Polish culture in California. Trochimczyk’s nine books of poetry include “Rose Always,” “Miriam’s Iris,” “Slicing the Bread,” “Into Light”, and four anthologies, “Chopin with Cherries” (2010), “Meditations on Divine Names” (2012), “Grateful Conversations: A Poetry Anthology” (2018) and “We Are Here: Village Poets Anthology” (2020). This is her ninth poetry collection.

Nike - Monument to Warsaw Uprising, Warsaw, 2014.

SAMPLE NEW POEMS

≡ PANI BASIA ≡

~ in memoriam Barbara Wysocka, “Irma” soldier in the Warsaw 

   Uprising, prisoner of Stutthof Camp (1927-1997) 

Who was this stranger at Christmas Eve dinners? 

A tall, stern lady who did not smile or talk to children. 

Distinguished. Distant. Too stiff for hugging. 

She looked at us as if from another planet. 

She ate her food slowly, methodically,

relishing each sip of the hot beet soup, 

gingerly picking fishbones out of carp in aspic. 

An aura of loneliness spread out around her. 

Why did Mom take her for vacation to Abu Dhabi,

on an exotic adventure, to see red sands, palms, camels?

The answer waited for decades in packets 

of old letters, medals earned during the war. 

She was “Irma,” a teen liaison for Division Baszta 

in Mokotów. Fought to the end, Warsaw’s fall. 

Imprisoned in the Stutthof Concentration Camp. 

Her whole family perished. All alone.

Never married. Wrapped in her grief 

like a cashmere shawl.

On her vacation in Persian Gulf, she saw 

wobbly camels race – and finally laughed. 

A monument to Polish civilians shot by Germans during Warsaw Uprising

 ≡ THIRTY SIX ≡

The number is thirty-six. Not thirty and 

Not thirty-seven. Thirty-six. That’s how many 

lives they saved, sheltering them in secret, finding

more food, more clothing for the ghetto escapees. 

Doctor Alicja and Mr. Marian Burakowski at your service. 

Unsung heroes, nearly forgotten, except for 

that tree planted in Yad Vashem’ garden in 1983. 

Righteous among the Nations. No. 2480 on the list 

of the bravest people the world has ever known.

Think of the sheer audacity of what they did. 

The number is thirty-six. Not thirty and not thirty-seven. 

How many Jews would you have saved, if your own life, 

and that of all your children, your whole family, were at stake? 

Germans declared a mandatory death sentence, 

for this crime, if caught. 

Do not forget their names, then, Alicja and Marian

Dr. and Mr. Burakowski at your service.

The number is thirty-six.

 

 

≡ THE GREATEST SONG ≡

       ~ for Hanka Ordonówna, a humanitarian star (1902-1950)

Miłość Ci wszystko wybaczy… Love will forgive you everything. . .

The refrain of Poland’s most famous song

echoes through her memory, as she listens 

to the stories of war orphans – covered in

wounds and lice, starved to skeletons, yet

finding time to play. They asked her to sing. 

Ordonka, she used to be in another life, 

on a different timeline, another planet, perhaps – 

its very existence impossible to believe in, here 

on the train with orphans, on the way to a refugee

camp in India – in a coarse military uniform instead 

of silks, pearl strings, shawls, and ostrich feathers.

Champagne for the greatest star! Balls and revues

for the beloved singer of perfect Love! Such charm! 

She found refuge in Beirut, her final stop, Paris 

of the Levant. There was no Poland to return to, after 

Stalin’s tanks rolled in to stay for 45 years. She did not 

make it. She did not feel like wearing silks, feathers, 

pearls – after the orphans that survived their odyssey 

went somewhere else to become someone else – not 

her lost Polish children, smiling with delight as she sang.

Miłość ci wszystko wybaczy… bo miłość, moj miły, to ja!

Love will forgive you everything. . . for Love, my dear, I’m Love!

 

NOTE: Read a summary of her story by Irene Tomaszewski, "The Cabaret Star and the Orphans: From Warsaw to India" Cosmopolitan Review, vol. 5 no.2 (June 2013). http://cosmopolitanreview.com/hanka-ordonowna/

 

≡ A PILOT IN PAKISTAN ≡

~ for pilot Zofia Turowicz (d.1980)

She learned to fly to have wings —

to look down at the rolling waves of mountains, 

the geometry of fields outlined by rivers, 

dotted by lakes. She longed to see where clouds

were born, and where they were going.

Today, she teaches soldiers of a foreign army

how to fly and kill, kill and fly away, unharmed.

They call it the dogfight, as in, dog 

eats dog, the bigger dog,

the faster dog, the dog 

with sharper teeth. 

The dogs of war.

Six years was enough. 

Enough of this war.

She lost her home, her house, her childhood.

She has no future. Alone, wearing blond curls 

and the tight, belted uniform of a pilot

she’s teaching soldiers in a Muslim country 

how to fly to war. 

NOTE: Pilot Zofia Turowicz was the wife of Władysław Józef Marian Turowicz (1908-1980), commander of about 30 Polish pilots that trained the newly formed Pakistani Air Force since 1948. He remained a PAF officer, and became the founder of Pakistani space program. https://www.compasstravelguide.net/curiosities/the-polish-pakistani-air-force/ 

Flying Kites Is... Pure Joy and Laughter in the Sun

It is an amazing experience to fly a kite... A month, two months passed, and I'm still playing with kites at least twice per week, every week. In my previous post, I showed you my six kites and what they could do. Some had issues, were unbalanced and crashed too frequently instead of soaring high above. 

First, I worked on the butterfly a bit and cut its streamers in half, adding a central set, as well as two googly eyes, so the weight would be distributed better, with more weight in the center, and the extra streamers to stabilize the flight. And so they did. The blue Butterfly stopped flipping over and crashing within 10 seconds of lifting up, instead, it soared towards the sun. 

The Blue Butterfly 1: https://youtu.be/IknSaGveNHo

The Blue Butterfly 2: https://youtu.be/OqBDIPHCIWE

The Butterfly soared next to a column of light, a huge ray shining straight down, so dazzling bright! The sky was clear of any chemical garbage that day, and brightened by light at one p.m.

The Laughing Dolphin soared in sunlight, too. How light, how beautiful. The wind was dying out, though, so the Dolphin landed while I filmed it. Pure joy of flight. 

Laughing Dolphin 4: https://youtu.be/wsv8V77H4gc

Later, I replaced the very long and heavy tail ribbons, so it could be easier for the kite to take off. Taller than me, and narrow,  the dolphin does not have enough wing "acreage" for proper lift-off. However, once up in  the air, it flies around, swooping and diving, making huge circles above the ground. This means, it is not  stable and well balanced yet. More work on the ribbons, then.  When the moon is out at daytime, the dolphin laughs right next to it.  So cute! 

Laughing Dolphin 5: https://youtu.be/uZOdkTaqTts, dance around the moon.

Two weeks later, I went to Hermosa Beach with kids and had not one, but three kites in the air at the same time.  The ocean breeze blows steadily inland, much stronger and steadier than the twirling winds in the foothills, affected by the topography of the hills and valleys. My diamond rainbow kite, the simplest one, was accompanied by the sharkie with geometric patterns, and the blue butterfly. After I tied them up to our beach tent, they were up in the air for several hours, floating this way and that... 

https://youtu.be/g6XXJTEu7t0 Three kites in Hermosa Beach

https://youtu.be/sdmvgIIlyfY Three kites in Hermosa Beach 2

https://youtu.be/moww1KD2xGs  Three kites in Hermosa Beach 3

When the wind got too strong and the butterfly wings bent too much,  it started veering to the right and threatening to crash among the beach-goers. So, I had to take it down, and replaced it with the swirling circle, thinking that its stronger wiring would withhold the gusts of wind. Alas, it did not fly too high either. .  . 

After getting back to my favorite kiting grounds on the Trail of the Valley in Big Tujunga Wash, I played again with the dolphin. The long, heavy, plastic ribbons made it hard for the kite to take off, so I replaced them with bunches of semi-transparent fabric ribbons, sparkling in sunlight.

Finally, I was able to write a poem about flying kites. I will add it to my "The Rainy Bread" collection of war-themed, tragic and dramatic poems. It will provide some uplift at the end. With a bit of thin paper, string, sticks and glue, you can fly a kite even during the worst times, and it will take your spirit soaring among the clouds...

≡ FLYING KITES... ≡

My kites respond faithfully to each tug of the string, 

like pets on a leash. Sometimes, they wantonly resist 

the pull, to crash-land on brush-covered hillside. 

The strange, geometric delta champion, with black-and-white

checkers on its chest, rainbow wings and tail, flaps its fins 

as a flying fish that floats higher and higher, into the azure.

The swirling circle, a tribute to the ingenuity of unknown

engineers, is an air turbine, turning so fast that it seems ready 

to power a lightbulb or open a portal to another universe.

The green baby dragon with red wingtips and streamers 

capriciously turns here and there. Unstable, garishly bright, 

it falls suddenly onto a thicket of dry chaparral bushes. 

The golden macaw, enormous and silent, is so different 

from its loud, obnoxious cousins. My parrot blissfully swings 

from left to right, in an ethereal waltz of gold and red ribbons. 

The laughing dolphin soars straight up – I look up to follow 

the pathway of this magnificent guardian of the world, 

crossing the ocean of air, so alive in oxygen blue.

Flying kites is defying gravity. Flying kites is pure joy. 

This is freedom itself, soaring towards the Sun, 

circling around the Moon, tracing patterns among clouds. 

My favorite is the simple diamond of colorful squares –

red, yellow, green, blue, violet – that shines in sunlight,

twirling on the end of its string, pointing the way home. 

We used to make such diamonds of thin balsa wood

sticks and light parchment paper, our hands stained by glue. 

The tail, a row of paper bowties tied to a string, undulated 

above dark soil of potato fields, stretching to the horizon. 

  

Flying kites is like love making to the air –

a dance of give and take – moving, shifting along

air currents that swirl above the hills at sunset.

Flying kites is an apology for years lost to not being 

little children that skip along the path, straight to heaven.  

Flying kites is prayer, supplication, hymn of praise. 

Flying kites is defying gravity. Flying kites is pure joy. 

This is freedom itself, soaring towards the setting Sun, 

circling around the Moon, tracing patterns among clouds. 

It is like swimming in the air, below a violet butterfly 

with outstretched wings, ascending into the purity of distance, 

along the pillar of light that connects the Earth and the Sky.

Flying kites on the beach and in the mountains:

https://youtu.be/cAL_SwHe4A8

http://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2021/01/lets-go-fly-kite-up-in-bluest-clearest.html

http://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2021/03/flying-kites-is-pure-joy.html

Redondo Beach, California

https://youtu.be/R1xV_p2Azec (Butterfly)

https://youtu.be/otEVtfnbOGM (Kite Festival)

Mandalay Beach, Oxnard, California 

Three Kites high up in the clouds: https://youtu.be/foOY2QZmRBc

Three Kites, continued: https://youtu.be/lan3bq45A9s

Delta Kite solo: https://youtu.be/-wlQmSbLKRM

Hermosa Beach, dancing kites, soaring high above:

https://youtu.be/g6XXJTEu7t0 Three kites in Hermosa Beach

https://youtu.be/sdmvgIIlyfY Three kites in Hermosa Beach

https://youtu.be/OB27nE1uFIs Swirling Circle in Hermosa Beach

Kites in Angeles National Forest mountains, Rim of the Valley Trail:

Butterfly Diamond: https://youtu.be/jWyrVsv9yYY (2023)

Butterfly Diamond: https://youtu.be/XKKyqWyoxOk (2023)

Smiling Fox: https://youtu.be/3niKbMqzYR0

Diamond Butterfly: https://youtu.be/ddCJsAOOGlc (strong wind, unstable)

Flying Diamond: https://youtu.be/EveaI9O8Qsk (blue skies)

Swirling Circle: https://youtu.be/9C3p-KhHnOU (above hills)

Delta Sharkie: https://youtu.be/YJuFji99JY8 (chemtrail stripes)

Macaw Parrot: https://youtu.be/JodwfVw-Tk4 

Blue Butterfly 2: https://youtu.be/OqBDIPHCIWE

Laughing Dolphin 1: https://youtu.be/BtXErYfMxuE (skies with chemtrails)

Laughing Dolphin 2: https://youtu.be/-Vj7DEXVZSs (skies with chemtrails)

Laughing Dolphin 3: https://youtu.be/_i2HaGGGoyU (blue skies, one stripe)

Laughing Dolphin 4: https://youtu.be/wsv8V77H4gc (in sunlight)

Laughing Dolphin 5: https://youtu.be/uZOdkTaqTts (dancing around the moon)