The Hot Air Balloon

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I clutch the rope as tightly as I can until I cannot feel the tips of my fingers anymore. The wind plays with my hair, loosening my tight ponytail, and letting the loose strands dance in front of my eyes. I do not mind, though. Nothing can make my hands abandon the rope. It is not that I am frightened of falling. It is excitement, not fear that makes me feel as if I am going to tumble out of the basket.

I lean over to get a better view of the world I left behind. Miles upon miles of corn fields and rolling green hills spread out in front of me, like a beautiful patchwork quilt made of only green fabric.

"Where are we going to land?" I ask.

"I don't know,” You shrug. “Does it matter?"

I shake my head. No.

When I am up here, surrounded by nothing but clouds, sky, and fresh air, all of the worry, fear, and stress I left behind on Earth seem so minuscule. I look at you. I can see a light in your eyes, and somehow I know that you feel the same way I do.

I can feel you standing close to me, and I slowly loosen my grip on the rough, prickly rope, allowing you to fill your hand in mine. I can feel a smile spread across my face as we drift off into the distance, fading away into the honey-orange sunset. Everything was going to be alright.

We let the wind take us wherever it pleases. I do not worry about where we will land. It will be a different and better place, far away from where we have come from. That is all that matters.

 Dedicated to a friend.