by menonmyth


There is a familiarity to the hot, humid heat enveloping your body, it smells strangely of summer days on the footpaths of Fort Kochi beach, strolling with a cone of roasted peanuts, watching the sun reside into oblivion. There by the Arabian Sea and the oldest Jewish settlement in India, here by the Arkansas river and the art of the Kiowan and Wichitan tribes. History has uncanny ways of repeating itself, using different symbolisms. It serves as a reminder of memories imprinted deeply, connecting our sensibilities with everything we profoundly associate with ourselves.

Wichita lies at the center of the prairie’s heartland, a midpoint to the country’s (over) populated coasts. Often heralded as the aviation capital of the world, there are four airforce bases surrounding the metropolitan area. The city is also divided into the east and the west, a great rivalry existing between the two quarters. Take a stroll along the riverside on the west or visit the historical Frank Lloyd Wright’s Allen-Lambe house in the east, or do both.

However, the true beauty of Wichita lies in its skies. Different cloud types inhabit the vast expanse sketching bold and vivid sunsets. This is a city that can do Vivaldi’s Le Quattro Stagioni proud. One can find beauty in many things but to unequivocally appreciate the core essence of the heart of the city, one must be able to read between the clouds.

Zeffiro dolce Spira, mà contesa
Muove Borea improviso al Suo vicino;
E piange il Pastorel, perche sospesa
Teme fiera borasca, e ‘l suo destino

“We hear the cuckoo’s voice; then sweet songs of the turtle dove and finch are heard.
Soft breezes stir the air….but threatening north wind sweeps them suddenly aside. The shepherd trembles, fearful of violent storm and what may lie ahead.”