Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
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Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017

Tuesday, Nov. 25, 2008 @ 8:05 am
Rocky Flies

It was a cool day, maybe in the spring. We had helium balloons. Karen and I in the front yard, the grass lush.

She tied the balloon to my toy. No, that's possibly incorrect. I might have tied the ribbon.

She let it go. That I know. Yes, it was her.

The sky was clear blue, and the balloon ascended. I watched it, helpless, shocked that for the first time gravity wasn't working properly. Floating higher, above the trees, into the windy atmosphere.

The year was 1988; I was crying. Oh, the loss. Oh, my heart.

The balloon became so small in the sky as it moved off over the canyon, into the Properties. I watched it for a long while through the leafless branches of the dogwood. The sickening feeling in my stomach, my well-loved toy had left me.

I realized then, how the world has three dimensions, the third of which we rarely think about, except for that moment during take-off when the horizon changes, and the city spreads out below.

Roots | Shoots