Once I found a dead balloon on the side of a gravel road. I don't remember the color, but I remember wondering from whence it came, and what paths it had travelled to get to it's final resting place. I wonder at the parallels between baloons and kites. A kite is chained sky cavorting. A kite is joyful, and I enjoy them, but the kite, while wild and free, defiant and absolute, is the kind of thing that depends on others to exert its will. A balloon, on the other hand, is pondering. It has somehwere to go, but it more concerned with it's dignity. It will float and travel and wander the wide sky, until conditions defeat it and it shrivels and dies. Kites are the cause of fun and joy, but balloons, balloons are witnesses to very special events in one's life. Some are more glamorous, but the simplest of them knows that it's understated presence makes a moment all that more special. The kite will never venture to the places balloons can inhabit, not in thier true form. The kite does not care, for the kite does not know. I don't really know, balloons, kites, navigating thier respective skies... Kites are for the glory of it all, and balloons have stories to tell.... ...and that's really all there is to it.