| Maureen Killoran | | | | flight, nothing mattered, and that was perhaps the |
| Dogs distrust hot air balloons. I gathered this tidbit | | | | biggest lesson of the morning. Letting go of |
| as my husband and I floated over the mountains | | | | anxiety. Letting go of fear. Letting go of |
| in a wicker gondola, listening to the barking chorus | | | | expectations. Letting go of everything -- except |
| that followed us even 3,000 feet into the air. The | | | | the absolute pleasure of quiet flight, confidence in |
| burner evokes canine protest -- but we had no | | | | the balloonist's competence, and sensitivity to the |
| problems, as we drifted with the currents and | | | | beauty of that is our gift for living in these hills. |
| contemplated the silent fog in its morning retreat | | | | Take a hot air balloon ride. Treat yourself to a |
| over the hills. | | | | massage. Walk in the early morning dew. Listen |
| | | | -really listen-- to the insects, the birds. Smile at a |
| "Are those sheep?" my husband wondered, | | | | cat you haven't met. Take time for the slower |
| pointing to toy animals far below. "No," said our | | | | things and Life will find a thousand ways to turn |
| pilot placidly. "Cows." They turned out to be | | | | the blessing back to you. |
| horses, but who cared. For the duration of our | | | | |