desert gobstopper

'Course, this being early September, in a desert in western North America, four miles from any public road and 20 miles from the nearest town, I knew that wasn't so.

But that's what they looked like.

That, or a giant gobstopper.

There in my spotting scope, in the background as I classified the large groups of pronghorn that we'd found near the artesian well. But I knew what I'd find if I drove a little closer.

Balloons.

Now, these were no common balloons. These were the expensive kind, with the hard plastic air valves, made of thick plastic or latex that mostly withstood our spiny greasewood and cactus. Most were still full of helium, struggling to break the bonds of gravity, held down by their less bouyant brethren.

Each was tied with ribbon, not string. An opalescent ribbon. This being so close after Labor Day, I had to guess some weekend celebration. A family reunion perhaps, or even a wedding? (But then, wouldn't these be in some sort of colour scheme? I go back to the family reunion idea.)

Nothing to identify the source of these travelers. I once found a cluster of the cheap latex ones from Lake Havasu just seven or eight miles due south of here. So, most these are most likely from somewhere southwest. Salt Lake, perhaps?

There was one that was different, though.

A yellow one, with a crudely drawn face, complete with beard and moustache. If this is your artwork, let me know. I can tell you how far it got.

So, I slowly worked at their umbilicals, separating the vibrant from the dying and dead. And soon, the cluster was slowly lifting up from the saltbush and sage.

Caught by our prevailing western wind, they were soon back on their journey.

Seven and a half minuters later, they were more than a mile away, still climbing.

Leaving behind their grounded companions, struggling and shaking in the breeze. Doomed to an obscure ending in the middle of nothing, out here in the nowhere.

Except, of course, for the four captives in our back seat.