Riding on the East Wind
Heaven, somewhere above South Carolina


As a kid there were those moments when heady anticipation was almost overwhelming. I recall those Fridays that were the last ones of the school year- the vast infinity of summer vacation lying before us. During summer there were those magic times when we got to go to Wagner’s pool and swim all afternoon - forgetting the endemic chaos of an alcoholic family. At other times we could actually build our palaces in the sky in the large elm trees in the back corner. Of course, the anticipation of Christmas made time stand still in the days leading up to it.

As an adult, perhaps one of the most powerful moments of anticipation derives from the feeling that happens when the crew lets go of the basket and the giant gumdrop above us successfully defies gravity. One is actually able to soar into the sky and watch the world spread out below. Hot air ballooning is the only mode of transportation where the journey itself is absolutely everything. And so it was today. After spending the morning chasing thirty hot air balloons with my cameras in my old earth-bound Toyota, it occurred to me that being up in the cerulean skies of a second Indian summer made a lot more sense than chasing balloons with thousands of other people doing the exact same thing, or raking leaves in the back yard.

After making a phone call to the festival organizers and then showing up at the launch field in mid afternoon I was able to secure a place in one of the thirty balloons that would be participating in a mass ascension at sunset. For the next two hours on a warm Saturday afternoon, I played the part of a gawking tourist and wandered around the launch field with my cameras, ‘collecting’ balloons and people in various states of euphoria and delight. Secretly, I knew I was in a privileged tiny group that was going to experience this balloon festival to the max. Around 4 PM the giant gumdrops starting plucking off the surface of a gravity-controlled world and immediately caught winds to the east. The idea that I was about to get caught in these easterly winds in one of these was delicious beyond words. Hurry up!! I want to go!

Finally our turn came to assemble the basket, struts, burners, telemetry wires, lay out the envelope, attaching the shrouds, and begin the cold inflation. Something that sounds like a small aircraft engine powers a truncated wood propeller and cold air is used to inflate the 77,000 cubic foot envelope, bringing it to life. At the right time heat is applied with the propane burners and the balloon stood up. At the proper moment the pilot says, “Hop in”. He didn’t have to ask me twice.

Tugging at the ropes tying us to the planet, the rainbow cloud above me wanted to get off this world as much as I did. The crew turned us loose, and instantly we were caught in those easterly winds. Suddenly we were in total stillness and we experienced heavenly peace in stunning fashion. This was so much better than catching the perfect wave or even getting the perfect reach in a sail boat. The launch field spread out below and soon people looked like ants scurrying about looking for candy. Shortly the horizon opened up and the city lay before us. It’s utterly entrancing to waft across town, hanging from the bottom side of a huge gumdrop, having everyone stopping their activities on earth to wave at us and smile. Something about hot air balloons provokes this happy involuntary reflex of waving and grinning with great energy.

At certain times of day on certain select days, light allows us wanna-be photographers to look like true professionals. The aureate cast to the slanting late-afternoon sun around us brings the fall colors below to vibrant life and these clouds of balloons are glorious in their brilliant sun-drenched finery. I have now taken several hundred images of this magical world up here. I could stay up here forever. I find myself scurrying around the different sides of the basket to capture every aspect of this cerulean world. Wisps of high cirrus clouds give a fine grain texture to the heavenly realm yet further up from us. There is a magnificent transcendent sensibility to be in a high place, not unlike that which draws mountain climbers to make long dangerous ascents to the summits of great peaks.

Up here I see how splendid our world really is, the grand clouds of tree canopies, now a grand admixture of cadmium orange, gold, alizarin red, yellow, burnt sienna, burn umber, crimson, and scarlet spread out below, creating a sense of softness and security. How different those millions of leaves look from up here than when I am raking them into great piles.

The necklace of large lakes here known as ‘the freshwater coast’, glint below and create a sense of being in a pristine land of a thousand lakes. The world seems fresh and well delivered from the drought that lasted here for so many years. Many are enjoying their powerboats on water that was but weedy fields not so long ago, leaving contrails of white foam in their wake. Sailors, like us, use the wind, to experience the joy of the journey.

I’m not sure I want to descend; the ride on the eastern wind is way cooler than summer vacation, even better than getting the perfect wave on a board at Newport Beach. Up here all really seems well with the world. Perhaps it really is, if we but pay attention. If Earth is this good, what is Heaven going to be like?

“Eyes have not seen, ears have not heard, the hearts of men have not even imagined the things I have prepared for you.”