UncommonPromise

The hot air balloon lay on the cool pavement, conforming to the shapes of the tarmac, lifeless and limp, its bright colors barely animated by the early-morning sun. Cars rolled into the lot and day-balloonists sprang out, eager for the adventure.

As I climbed into the basket, its aged leather edges creaked against the wicker. The pilot turned slowly, checking each tie, sandbag, valve, and connection. He then ignited the gas flame with a spark and warm air rushed into the balloon, filling its soft contours. Soon it billowed to the familiar egg-shaped form.



We rose from the blacktop and drifted horizontally, until a gentle gust wafted us slowly away from the cars and squinting onlookers. I leaned over the side to watch the town grow smaller. The world below appeared benign, passive. Relaxing with the gentle sway of the basket, I felt calm and detached as the view slowly broadened.

The burden of daily pressures and weighty concerns drifted away as we floated ever higher above the fray.

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