We waited in the pre-dawn chill for the balloons to wake from their seeming slumber in the field.
It was as if they’d drawn in a deep breath of the July day and thought to themselves: Yes, this is how it’s meant to be.
We waited to send them off with a wave into the rising sun.
They lifted into the sky, exhaling with fiery roars across the horizon.
Awhile more we sat, contemplating the treeline, scanning the blue for colorful dots that would become larger, sailing toward us and looming above us, carried on the wind.
Our heads tilted to the Iowa skies; we smiled again and again.
