All this time the kite hung in the sky at an enormous height.

The third, and first chronologically, accident involved a kite, i.e., a variety of hang glider.

In the corner, a yellow kite was hanging from ladderlike stairs going up to a trapdoor in the ceiling.

The man-lifting kites hang against the moon, casting vast bat-shadows on the mountainside.

Take note of the angle at which the kite hangs.

On the wall a colourful kite hung waiting for summer, a Montreal Canadiens poster beside it.

The colored kites hung motionless, muffling any echo, but it seemed my question echoed and I wished I could have bitten it back.

The kites hung without moving, their shapes strange and their colors garish and meaningless.

The great height at which the kite hung made a great concave curve in the string, so that as the runners went up they made a flapping sound.

By the thousands, vanquished kites hung limply from trees.