Back to the spot where my father taught me how to built a kite and where I flew my first kite ever.
Thirty-something years ago.
On the very spot.
The times when everything was good and nobody would die.
You know what I'm talking about.
A lot has changed.
This little harbor town is going down the drain and the camping site where I spend the better years of my youth has disappeared and shovels are removing the last proof of it's ever existence.
There I was.
Standing in a freezing cold and stormy wind.
Enjoying the PFK Nighthawk doing it's thing.
Thinking about the great times we had so many years ago.