We can hear them lifting. They fire up, pulsing burners.
Silence, almost. Color and inflated mass moving the invisible world of oxygen and nitrogen, moving clouds, and it is audible.
Then the burner rips the almost silence.
The basket rises, scrapes the roof and treetops, almost. Touches my daydream daze.
My thoughts, something, gets carried away.
Pretty! I don't think we will see any of those around here this time of year. They would freeze or something.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful against that clear blue sky! Our little town has a balloon festival every summer. I have a couple of photos from when we lived in Baton Rouge. A balloon set down in the canal behind our house. It was so cool!
ReplyDeleteI LOVE-love your blogs...they are so eklectic...like me...a rambling rose kind of thing...I have enjoyed each and every one that I have had the priviledge to read. They are my, have a coffee and yea! time to read chicken blog time...Thanks Natalie
ReplyDeleteThose pictures are just beautiful :)
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing them with us all.
Carolyn