And just like that, another three day weekend lies behind us. You know, Labor Day is a celebration of the common worker–and what party would be complete without balloons? Yeah, I can’t imagine, either.
So it was, my weekend began with the Spirit of Boise Balloon Classic. Not wishing to get up any earlier than early, I rolled out of bed and into clothes, threw my hair up in a pony and stuffed a few essentials in a bag; then, camera in hand, I shuffled out the door and straight to Starbucks–because seriously, I may usually be up at that hour of the morning, but I’m not out cavorting with the moon . . .
It must be lonely for the man in the moon on this side of the world, at that time of morning . . .
But not on Saturday. Saturday was different. Saturday he lit the way as two by two–young and old, family and friends–we muddled into Anne Morrison Park. We wrapped up on sweatshirts and blankets; we carried children in wagons, on hips, and atop shoulders. Bleary eyed and not the least bit bushy-tailed, we cradled hot coffee, tea, and cocoa as if our lives depended on it.
Perhaps they did.
So why did we do it? Why did we arise before the sun to trudge around on wet grass when we could have been snuggled deep in our beds? Why, for the show, of course . . .
The bright, colorful show that enlivens a park with oohs and ahhs, chatter and laughter, and the click of cameras, phones, and tablets . . .
Is it worth it? Some may argue no, but I say yes . . . every single time!