scruta

Spring is at the door here in Shanghai, and this past weekend proved to be a lovely one full of sunshine and mild temperatures. As a result, I decided to have lunch outside at Zhongshan Park, one of the biggest and most bustling parks in the city.

On a weekend like this, the air is full with the scolding of grandparents scuttling after their impish grandchildren, the stately, meandering wail of performers playing traditional Chinese music and the thump of recordings played in the far square where public dances are held. If the wind is up at all, there are always the kites. The central green is completely full of people of all ages angling for a spot to send their kite skyward, as families of three generations look on.

I was suddenly fascinated by the view of the kites in the sky. They seemed to encapsulate the excitement I felt walking around in the sudden good weather. My spirits were flying high, and so were they. As I stood near the edge of the green and looked at them, I heard the sound of a whistle trilling in short, loud bursts. It was a coming from a groundskeeper, walking through the crowds, waving his arms while blowing, trying to get them to move off the green. He had a helpless, yet determined look on his face. As if he knew that he wasn’t going to get anyone to move, but he had to keep trying. He didn’t know what else to do.

I noticed that there was a flimsy cord around the entire perimeter of the green, and several signs had been posted:

养草期间

请勿入内

Time for growing grass

Please do not enter

The Chinese weren’t phased by the sign or the groundskeeper. He didn’t have any real authority; he just had a whistle. The spring was on its way, and their spirits were high like mine, high amongst the kites.