The wind blows through your hair, ruffling it fondly. The basket you stand in creaks and groans, but holds you steadily.
You pull a rope, and fire burns into the balloon, and you rise higher, until you're above the clouds. Here, resting your arms on the edge of the basket, you can see the rising sun. It lights the clouds in a blaze, a white forest fire. The air whistles and sings the song of morning.
You look down below, and between the puffs of cloud, you see blurry land, a multitude of colors. You look back up in time to see a painting of color, the sense of time slowing down, and the feeling of sunlight brush your cheek.
YOU ARE READING
Twisted Dreams
PoetryA collection of short stories, poems, and half-written ramblings. ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 dream \ ˈdrēm \ 1 : a series of thoughts, visions, or feelings that happen during sleep ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 night·m...
