Early one Phoenix morning, my grandma woke me up, told me to get dressed as my grandpa wanted to take me for ride. There was excitement in the air. My grandpa and I got into the car and away we went. He drove with a sense of urgency. Anybody who had ever been in a vehicle with my grandpa knows that when I write he drove with a sense of urgency means it was a very scary ride. But when we rounded a corner and as my eyes followed his arm and finger pointing out the window my fear turned to awe. For the first time a saw a hot air ballon hovering in the sky above the silent desert.
He drove ahead of the balloon and stopped the car. I quickly stepped out with my camera in hand clicking non-stop as it drifted towards us. The balloon was almost directly above us when the pilot pulled a lever igniting the burner which produced a whooshing sound that I would never forget. It was at that moment I fell in love with the beauty of hot air ballooning. The pilot and the passengers waved to us as they silently drifted away across the desert. It was a magical moment standing in the desert in cool morning air with my grandpa.
No comments:
Post a Comment