Mostly I Want To Go Home
God, I get homesick for the weirdest stuff sometimes.
I want to go to the Balloon Fiesta. No, not even just that, I want to go and crew. Which is insane, because I haven't crewed in years because after long enough it gets to be just not that big a deal and it all happens way too early in the morning, but I do. I want to get up at some godforsaken hour of the morning in the fall, shivering in my coat and seeing my breath in the air by the barely visible light of the sun just starting to come over the mountains, while we drink cheap coffee and eat breakfast burritos and bagels and funnel cake. I want to be a part of the prep work for the flight, laying out the envelope, attaching the basket, holding the ropes that keep it tethered it in place. I want to hear the roar of the propane burner and feel its heat on my skin as the balloon goes from flat fabric spread out on the ground to full and straining at the ropes, trying to take off in the sky.
I want to see it fly.
I want to do chase crew, following along in the truck on the ground, glued to the radio, waiting to hear that they came down in a field or a ditch or the middle of the road or someone's backyard so we can find them and get them again and do everything in reverse, packing the balloon back up for the next flight. God, what I would do to the see the Glow - 500, 1000 balloons that aren't taking off at all, staying on the ground so they can light them up for you, a sea of them burning up the twilight. And laughing at the special shapes, the balloons that look like cartoon characters or buildings or animals or food, I've seen beer balloons and cow balloons and a purple people-eater, even, once.
I want to look up in the sky every day for a month and count the balloons overhead, because they are always there, there is always, always someone flying.
I want to go to the Balloon Fiesta. No, not even just that, I want to go and crew. Which is insane, because I haven't crewed in years because after long enough it gets to be just not that big a deal and it all happens way too early in the morning, but I do. I want to get up at some godforsaken hour of the morning in the fall, shivering in my coat and seeing my breath in the air by the barely visible light of the sun just starting to come over the mountains, while we drink cheap coffee and eat breakfast burritos and bagels and funnel cake. I want to be a part of the prep work for the flight, laying out the envelope, attaching the basket, holding the ropes that keep it tethered it in place. I want to hear the roar of the propane burner and feel its heat on my skin as the balloon goes from flat fabric spread out on the ground to full and straining at the ropes, trying to take off in the sky.
I want to see it fly.
I want to do chase crew, following along in the truck on the ground, glued to the radio, waiting to hear that they came down in a field or a ditch or the middle of the road or someone's backyard so we can find them and get them again and do everything in reverse, packing the balloon back up for the next flight. God, what I would do to the see the Glow - 500, 1000 balloons that aren't taking off at all, staying on the ground so they can light them up for you, a sea of them burning up the twilight. And laughing at the special shapes, the balloons that look like cartoon characters or buildings or animals or food, I've seen beer balloons and cow balloons and a purple people-eater, even, once.
I want to look up in the sky every day for a month and count the balloons overhead, because they are always there, there is always, always someone flying.