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