Rose and Red

On the fifth morning the balloon drifted over valleys of pink and red stone. The first light of the day made the rock glow like the inside of a rose. Even the pigeons flying below them looked pink in that light.

"A balloon has no wheel and no engine to turn it," the pilot said. "We steer with the winds themselves. The low winds run one way and the high winds run another, so we climb or we sink until we find the one that is going where we want to go."

He let the balloon sink slowly down into the red valley. The stone walls rose up on either side of the basket, close and warm in the early light. Polly stood on the rim, right in the narrow space between the great curve of the balloon and the glowing rock.

Then they climbed again, high above the land. Far off, a village stood gathered around one enormous rock riddled with carved rooms. "Uçhisar," the pilot said. "The old castle rock. From the top of it you can see this entire country laid out in front of you."