“Pusssssht…..pussssht…..pussssht” came into my dreams.
“What is that?”
I thought as I rolled over still half asleep in my rod iron bed.
That sound again, “Pusssssht”.
I quickly concentrated on the dream I was having. No, it was not in my dream… that sound was an awake sound.
“Pusssht..” I heard again.
Then I thought I heard people talking. I opened my eyes and looked at my clock. It was 6:45am. It was a summer holiday Saturday in my home when I was about twelve years old.
We lived on an acreage on the top of a hill, which overlooked the beautiful Sturgeon Valley.
The valley was full of wheat fields with a river flowing through the middle, just a half hour drive out of Edmonton, Alberta, in Canada.
The sound came again, and that of the people’s voices and I jumped from bed to go look out my window.
The sight I saw I will remember forever. The valley was filled with hot air balloons of every color. They were gliding majestically along in the first rays of the morning sun. It looked like a Rembrandt painting.
Some of the balloons were so close that I could see and hear the people standing in their baskets.
I ran to wake my parents, and my siblings. We all went to our front window to catch the amazing display.
Then my sister and I went outside to our front lawn and waved as many balloons came close enough for us to shout a hello.
What was most amazing what the silence of the display. The silence, then the air sound, the silence again, then the air sound.
With this feast for the eyes one would think that it would warrant a brass band playing along with it, or a symphony. I felt that this show was specifically put on for me.
And then they were gone…
Ever since that day, I’ve wanted to ride in a hot air balloon.
Writing this reminds me to do just that. To keep that dream alive.
I take that wish, that thought, desire, and fill it with light. I tie it to a silver balloon with a gold thread and release it from the center of my heart and mind, and let that silver balloon gently float up to God.