Polly Flies the Balloon

On her last morning, the field was still dark. The pilot bent down and gave Polly the string of the little helium balloon. "You know the ritual now," he said. Polly let it go, and together they watched it drift slowly toward the east.

In the basket, the pilot held her close to the burner handle. "Now you," he said. Polly pressed with him. One breath of fire, two, three. The great balloon rose off the ground, and the passengers laughed with joy.

The sun came up, and more than one hundred balloons rose all around them, gold and red and blue. Below, the fairy chimneys glowed, and the pigeons woke in their little carved houses. Polly looked at it all for a long time.

High over the valley, she said goodbye to the pilot and the crew. Then she lifted off from the edge of the basket and flew east with the morning wind, the same wind the little balloon had shown her.