It’s what happens when an orb flies freely, escaping the glass of a world glaring with human imperfection, industry, idols, what passes for intelligence and integrity– it oversees London, the iris of England’s art, the reputation of queens, the relaxed accent of ancient history revered or scorned or adored. A balloon– now there is something worth seeing, air encouraging flight the second a grip on the string loosens or a knot becomes undone or our natural fascination with release makes us raise our sights to a sun running from tower top to tower top, the oft referenced wandering cloud wondering at the inscrutable irony of rubber expecting its own explosion–no, welcoming it, celebrating it, while ascending like a soul, past its own reflection, past the tired eye of Big Ben, into the loving arms of infinity. copyright 2015, Katherine M. Gotthardt
Originally published in Weaker Than Water
