I was at a birthday party this weekend, where the children were so enthralled by the balloons. Drawing faces on them. Popping them. “This one’s MINE.” Imagining how many it would take to fly away like the house in Up…
It might be about floating. The distant balloons that dance on a clear blue day over the used car lot draw my attention from the traffic and industry of the area while I wait and wait and wait. Measuring the moments in breezes and gusts. I’m drawn to the color and take the opportunity to focus on the way they bounce as the tree bends and so easily accommodate the conditions that the climate and atmosphere impose. They can’t last long, merely filled with helium. And perhaps that is part of the beauty, too. Impermanence.*
Writing Prompt: When I let my mind float…
(*Latex and polymers not withstanding.)
