Tuesday, September 12, 2017

The Balloon Bouquet

I let my imagination run away with me...

The Balloon Bouquet

Once I was a little girl standing in my minty frock and in my hand I held a balloon bouquet. They were all the colors of the rainbow. Red, yellow, green, and purple, blue, and gold; orange, pink, and fuscia. Translucent balloons with an iredescent sheen, and tied with white string. There were so many: I thought these dreams would carry me away. The future seemed so fun and light.
But one by one, I found, as time dragged on, they slowly slipped my grip and floated away.
Others withered as I grew older still. And one or two I released to fly unattainably high in the pale blue sky.
Yet other balloons came my way. Some bright, but more of sombre hues like velvety mists: green, blue, burgundy. My pack was thinning still, and still, these drifted away.
Yet I chose some silver balloons, and some of lighter and darker grays. Then one came. A pink floating heart. With an outstretched white hand, I grasped its string. It came to me so easily. I loved that dream, and yet it slowly faded into gray. Sometimes it would glimmer with pink hue and golden sheen and I would live again those darling memories of you and I and our first times of fun together when we were wondering if we could love each other. I clung to the thread to keep that shadow of what might have been, but that dream too, floated away into a dreary sky, gray on gray, while I cried no tears because I'd cried them already.
And alone I stood with no more. All dreams were gone.
There was no more balloon bouquet.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017


Today is my twenty-seventh birthday. And so, I leave you with John Watson's encouraging reflection upon this age.

"She must be seven-and-twenty now,—a  sweet  age,  when  youth  has  lost  its  self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience." -Dr. John Watson, reflecting on Mary Morstan (The Sign of Four).