Today I saw balloons crossing the street.
On my way to work, I sat at an intersection in a busy retail traffic area. Starbucks, Borders, Taco Del Mar and all other such mall satellite type stores surrounding me. Lost in thoughts of nothing important and waiting for my left lane arrow to turn green, bobbing color caught the edge of my eye.
On the sidewalk at the corner, near the little button to push when you want to cross the street, was a cluster of balloons. Floating and bobbing in place. Unmanned, unfettered, ungoverned.
All the fundamental colors: red, blue, green, yellow, orange. I didn’t count but it looked like eighteen or twenty balloon. Half of which looked a little sad, as balloons go. Maybe a few days past their prime. On the downhill side of full inflation. They dangled along the bottom of the balloon bunch. Grazing the ground occasionally. The other ten or so were clearly as healthy and lively as balloons get. The colorful cluster swayed playfully in their spot for a few seconds then began to cross the street. With the light.
Laughter took my breath. Audible joy echoed inside my car. Within the frame work of the crosswalk, the cluster of mysteriously liberated balloons began their trek across the intersection ahead of me, just like they knew what they were doing.
The lazier, helium-anemic balloons dragged along the ground lightly, giving the appearance of a slow, tumbling gait along the painted crosswalk. The sturdier, robust, helium-rich balloons buoyed and lifted the entire troupe, drawing them on and toward the opposite corner.
Unlike human crosswalk crossers, these balloons meandered and strolled across the street with the blasé sniff of nonchalance that only balloons can pull off. As if they were not late for a hot latex date, nor escaping a relentless balloon cluster stalker. As if time and destination were immaterial. Like an astronaut bouncing over the surface of the moon, gravity was of no consequence to this cheerful and happy-go-lucky clique of color.
What was the explanation behind these renegade balloons? Had they become disconnected from their small child's wrist? Had they escaped the vehicle that would transport them to a sixtieth birthday party? Disillusioned with the housing market, had they broken away in protest from a real estate open house sign they were assigned to proclaim?
The group hesitated mid-cross, seemed to look around at the view and then continued along their way. It was the happiest gaggle of balloons I have ever seen. Eventually they made it to the other side of the street, just as my arrow turned green. I've never been so disappointed to see my light change.
Today I saw balloons crossing the street.
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