Flying in the Slow Lane
Dogs distrust hot air balloons. I gathered this tidbit as my
husband and I floated over the mountains in a wicker gondola,
listening to the barking chorus that followed us even 3,000 feet
into the air. The burner evokes canine protest -- but we had no
problems, as we drifted with the currents and contemplated the
silent fog in its morning retreat over the hills.
We learned that a mere a six foot rise in altitude can change
your direction, if your vehicle is a hot air balloon. We learned
that the tops of trees look a lot different from above, and
birds look surprised if you greet them in their nest. We waved
reassurance to cows whose moos voiced concern at our strange
presence overhead and we called "good morning" to the folk who
blessed us with their waves.
"Are those sheep?" my husband wondered, pointing to toy animals
far below. "No," said our pilot placidly. "Cows." They turned
out to be horses, but who cared. For the duration of our flight,
nothing mattered, and that was perhaps the biggest lesson of the
morning. Letting go of anxiety. Letting go of fear. Letting go
of expectations. Letting go of everything -- except the absolute
pleasure of quiet flight, confidence in the balloonist