Mass Ascension, A Patchwork Dawn

It was five hours past midnight—the moon was still out, though the stars had long since disappeared. After winding through a maze of traffic police and orange barrels we had finally made it to the fiesta grounds. Bundled in sweats and one of my dad’s jackets, shivers ran through my 9-year-old frame as the frigid desert air swirled. A mug of marshmallow-topped hot chocolate steamed in one of my chapped hands and burnt my tongue as I impatiently tasted its sweetness. In the other hand, I held a thick, cheesy, green-chile, hashbrown, bacon and egg breakfast burrito. Impossibly excited, my eyes were wide open, straining to see through the dark night. Balloonists were hard at work, I knew, but I wanted to see. Propane torches flickered now and then, lighting the scene only for a moment. But in those few seconds I saw colors and faces—I would just have to wait. Frosted grass crunched under my feet as I inched forward. The black of night slowly crept away and was, like a rainbow after rain, replaced by soft rays of sunshine that began to light the world. Crinkled and lifeless bags attached to sturdy gondolas, started to take shape as hot air was blown into the yards of nylon. A motley medley of ginormous shapes began to immerge. A mumbled hush surged around from person to person. I held my breath… 5-4-3-2-1! Colors unimaginable inflated the dawn sky as one balloon after another illuminated and took flight.