The Chancer
The first week in October is Balloon Fiesta time in Albuquerque. The poem for today came to me one early October as I watched a couple of balloons one morning near the Rio Grande. They lost altitude and were forced to land somewhere on the west side of the river.
At one time or another, we have all marveled at the mystery of flight, especially when we are watching the amazing antics of birds. I do best when contemplating birds, impressed with their magical abilities to escape gravity’s pull and play in the sky. I know that one of the things that helps them is that they have hollow bones so they weigh far less than you would think.
I don’t do anywhere near as well if I board an airplane which is heavy and loaded with baggage and passengers. Although I understand the physics of airplane flight, I can’t help but question how something as big and hefty as an airplane can be 30,000 miles up progressing to its destination a thousand miles away without falling back to earth overcome by gravity’s powerful, relentless grip. I’m never really comfortable on an airplane. Perhaps its just my earth bound Virgo nature.
That said, as a life long Star Trek fan (I viewed the very first episode and the numerous ones since), I do admit that if someone offered me a ride into outer space and a walk on the moon, Mars, or wherever, I would immediately go without hesitation.
I wrote the following poem after the hot air balloons had belched their way to some sort of landing beyond the trees across the river. I was inspired by a movement both ancient and awkward yet somehow awe inspiring. The maneuver was ungainly, even clumsy. It did have a small grace resulting from unfettered bravery. It echoed a long ago experiment desirous of reaching for the heavens. Mystery and miracle were on the wing.
I wish for you all the flights of fancy your heart desires and always safe landings
The Chancer
Great Blue Heron
clumsily wings
southward along,
the Rio, a surprising,
unwieldy flight,
awkwardly coming to
a safe perch in a
convenient cottonwood.
I marvel, mutter my
true surprise, knowing
I just witnessed
the repetition of
a Pleistocene experiment
that worked.
©Lou Liberty
