The Filly and the Balloon

In the darkness no one noticed the pale blue and white weather balloon as it drifted downward, closer to the earth. Its south-eastern path had taken it over the white capped Sierra Nevada Mountains and it was now descending even lower, toward an alkali flat in central Nevada. Occasionally a draft of air would snatch at it, causing it to rise slightly. But each time the draft would wane, the balloon would sink lower than before. At last it was snagged by the sage brush that littered the edge of the alkali flat.

As the sun rose, so too, did the wind. The balloon would billow and grab at the sky; only to be knocked down by a stronger gust of the wind that it was trying to escape upon.

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Idly chewing a part of her morning meal, the bay filly ambled outside of her stall, and spotted the evil creature at the far edge of the flat.

Her eyes became large and round, the remnants of hay forgotten and sagging at the side of her mouth. Snorting loudly, skin tingling with fear and excitement she raised her head high, a small squeal of fear slipping from her throat. She tried to run, but the bars of the corral stopped her.

Since she could not flee, she faced the malevolent creature. Tossing her head and blowing loudly, she reared up on her hind legs, challenging the creature to a fight. To the death, if need be.

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The balloon, having grown tired of trying to escape the clutches of the sage brush, slumped to the ground. That action released the rope that had become tangled in the brush.

With the next strong gust of wind, the balloon gathered it up and billowed like the mainsail on a three master sailing ship. Released from the brush, it rose high and rode that same wind over the hill and out of sight; escaping from the angry filly that had challenged it to a fight.