I must admit feeling a twinge of nervousness this morning as I climbed into the basket beneath the massive, colorful balloon.
I was, after all, about to rise a thousand feet into the skies above Greenwood with nothing but a thin layer of wicker keeping me from plunging into the open space below.
And I was about to place my safety, my life essentially, under the control of one pilot, some propane and a really big balloon.
But the moment the basket lifted off the dew-covered field, my nervousness disappeared, and one of the most amazing experiences of my life began.
Pilot Mike Hanson guided his balloon, named "Southern Winds," up into the air. For me, all sense of direction was lost when we became airborne. The scene below me became unfamiliar territory, and the city I've just started to become familiar with seemed to disappear into the landscape.
The flight, which lasted over an hour, ended when Hanson landed the craft on the levee. Which levee that was, I do not have a clue.
I've heard people say that to fly in a ballon has been their lifelong dream. Now I understand.
It wasn't like standing atop the Empire State Building because the view was all around, even below me, and it was constantly changing.
It wasn't like staring out an airplane window during an overseas flight I took several years ago because there was no thick glass or metal between my eyes and the world around me.
Maybe the feeling was more similar to dreams I've had. I somehow felt that I was being lifted straight up into heaven, which made coming back down to earth a rather disappointing finale.
I now know how it feels to practically sit on the treetops. I know how it feels to be part of the sky - to not just feel the wind, but to move effortlessly with it.
It was beautiful. It was serene. It was a unique happiness.
And from now on I don't have to be asleep to find myself floating. All I have to do is find someone with a balloon.
