I woke this morning to the sound of dragon’s fire. Darth Vader breathing slowly. After flailing weakly, trying to make it shut up, I realized. This is not normal. This sounds like that time…*
Up I stood. I peered through the blinds to the south. No.
Disappointed, I pried open a few blades of my eastern window blinds. YES! Hot air balloon.
A single spire of St. Basil’s Cathedral floated just outside my bedroom — well, just over the rear neighbors’ roofs. It floated in yellow-red-blue glory no more than ten feet above the houses, occasionally pulled upward a few feet by a blast of flame. Howdy tourists! A new reason to keep the blinds drawn when sprawled out in bed. Who knew? Such is life on the outer periphery of semi-desert wine country. The same thing that makes life in these exurbs difficult without a car makes for the occasional picturesque awakening.
I watched bunnies frolic in the mown grass yards of the sole row of houses between us and rural scrub as the Russian spire became the world’s largest bouncy house in the fields beyond. When it gave up with one last floppy swoon, I gave up going back to bed and got online.
Tonight, the moon will be closer to Earth than it’s been since 1983. (Supermoon — sounds like it’s going to don a cape and save the world from evil.) This morning, a pseudo-sun came closer to my house than ever before. Let’s hope these are good omens and will bring me some writing energy in addition to interesting views out my back windows.
Wishing you all a super Supermoon day!
*At some point in the 1990s, a hot air balloon skimmed close to the roof of my parents’ house, and we all ran out onto their deck to watch its passage.