And with them rides my soul.

Watching hot air balloons inflate at my feet and float above my head always leaves me in slack-jawed amazement. I marvel at how gracefully fierce their looming presence above the treetops and church steeples can be, and at the simplicity of fast-moving air molecules treading so closely to a beautiful catastrophe.

I am so small and irrelevant standing beneath them.

I am so thankful to know that he’ll remember this day and refer to it often and incessantly. I’m also somewhat happy that he’ll remind me daily that it cost two hundwed and fitty dowwahs to ride in a hot air balloon and that he only had two pennies in his pocket. He’ll be disappointed about his lack of funds for a while.

I love this time of year with every fiber of me.