A balloon right over the estate

Last evening I stepped out and there it was — a hot air balloon drifting right above the estate, so close I could hear the burners breathe every time it lifted. The sky was clear and the light was low and golden, and the balloon just hung there above the house and the trees.

And then the birds. Thousands of them had gathered in the trees around the house, and they were singing — a whole canopy of sound coming out of the evergreens. I stood on the hill and listened to both at once: the balloon overhead and the birds all around, the evening turning everything gold.

Out here the evenings do this — something ordinary turns into something you can't quite believe. The balloon drifted on, the birds kept going, and I just stayed and listened until the light went.