A big white balloon becomes the perfect gift for a wide-eyed child, a child fascinated by sugar packets and fascinated by cat toys and fascinated by big, white bubbles that float in the air. Fascinated by the world. A quick tie around the wrist, and friends are made. A friend that is always following close behind. A best friend for your shadow, who you already know will never leave you.
A big white balloon is so big and bright under the track-lighting in the big, warm safety of the big, warm building. The big, warm halogen bulbs shine through the latex, transforming the light into a big, warm ethereal glow.
A big white balloon turns into a little white balloon as you step out into the cold; your shadow's best friend now trailing with less livelihood. The helium cooled and now takes up less space; the balloon has shrunk. The latex wrinkled. The streetlights are too bright, and the little white balloon looks gray.
A little white balloon finds its way up, up, up and into the night; slipped from the wrist of a small child, now left staring skyward as the balloon floats off. It's carried up, up, up and becomes the moon; up, up, up, becoming a star; up, up, up, becoming a fast-fading memory.
White balloons are dangerous. If for no one else, for themselves.
In other news, I devastated my friends list. Maybe I should have given some warning. . . . maybe not.
If you feel that I've erased you without reason, feel free to let me know, but my blogs aren't ever friends-only, anyway.
♥
You ready?
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And I blame you for the sudden revival of my adventure-lust.
Thank you