I like to let my balloons go. Release the string and let them fly.
They clearly want to fly.
I know, it’s bad for the environment. They likely end up broken and sad, tangled in trees.
But I hope that they don’t.
I hope they fly towards each other. Lost balloons and released balloons and rogue balloons, all finding kindred souls on untied strings.
I like to think somewhere they cling together, in a kind of buoyant solidarity.
Tangled bits of rainbow on blue sky.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.