“Two balloons are stuck in a tree, connected by a single string.
One firmly in the grasp of the dead winter’s branches, the other struggling in the light wind to be free.
I wonder to myself, which one may I be?”
One firmly in the grasp of the dead winter’s branches, the other struggling in the light wind to be free.
I wonder to myself, which one may I be?”
This thought came to me in the early morning of New Year’s day. I was walking along the Vltava river in Prague among the broken wreckage of bottles, stringers, and fireworks from the night before.
The city was in deep slumber, and the stillness was serene. Swans were feeding along the banks, flocks of gulls flying overhead, the sun slowly rising for a new day, and a new year.
I sat for a indeterminable amount of time on a park bench and watched the two balloons.
It was a good start to a New Year.
