The burner roared, and suddenly we were dandelion seeds adrift in Sedona’s breath. Below, the earth bled crimson—canyons carved by ancient rivers, their ridges gilded by dawn’s first kiss. My fingers clung to the wicker basket, yet the wind hummed a lullaby, softening my pulse.
We floated above spires that pierced the sky’s lavender veil, their shadows stretching like ink across the desert canvas. A raven circled, its wings brushing the balloon’s silk belly, as if stitching us into the myth of this land.
Time frayed. The horizon melted into ochre and sage, a watercolor unfinished. When we descended, the ground rose to meet us, tender as a lover’s palm. The desert held its secret close, but for a moment, I’d glimpsed its heartbeat.