Sunrise Drift

The predawn darkness surrounded our early-morning departure. It was the last day of a lovely weekend spent celebrating my brother’s birthday. Driving down the main drag of a sleepy, historic town on the banks of the Yakima River, we could already see the crowds starting to gather. My brother and I pulled into a warehouse parking lot about a half mile away from the launch zone; the already gathered throng having taken all the nearby parking long before we arrived. As we walked toward the airfield, we spotted a strip mall diner: open early, just for today. With its modern-shabby-western feel, the diner epitomized this small town, surrounded by farmland and vineyards. We ordered waffles and coffee to go, then headed back out to the road. In convivial comfort, we ambled with an unhurried pace to a spot on the highway’s gravel shoulder along the fence and sat down to eat our breakfast, to-go boxes perched on our knees. 

The sky was beginning to lighten. Steam from our coffee cups wafted into the early-fall chill as we waited, watching as technicians and pilots scurried to be ready for launching. Brightly-colored nylon balloons were laid out on the grass like party dresses waiting for the ball. The excited babble of children nearby, another brother and sister, caught my attention. They pointed excitedly at the launching zone. The woosh of propane starters accompanied bright flashes of flame. The balloons were starting to come to life, 3-D shapes emerging from a 2D ground like Faberge eggs. When the hot air inside reached critical mass, the balloons popped up with a snap of fabric and the bounce of a prize fighter. 

First one then several balloons floated above their baskets, primed for liftoff. Each had their own distinct colors and patterns: grapes and leaves, stripes, squares, art deco, an American Flag. One at a time, the balloons emerged from the shadow of the airfield into rays of golden sunrise. The dusty-blue sky was streaked with flaming pinks and the edge of a bright sun rose with the balloons as they floated away, marking the passing of another decade. My brother draped his arm across my shoulders, the way I used to do when I was still bigger than him. He was 30 now, taller, towering a full head over me. It was strange how moments like these made time drift seamlessly between childhood and adulthood.