There’s a back road I take every afternoon when I head to the school to get the kids. It runs east and west, so I get to see a mountain view on my journey there. It’s always a beautiful sight-the invigorating mountains. They’re stately, looming, solid mass adds a certainty to this uncertain world of ours. This road is lined with many tall cottonwood trees. They are massive. I find myself looking every day for the hawks that perch among their tops. I always think of my dad (hawk eye) since he’s so good at spotting them. Maybe I take after my dad in this daily adventure. Every day I pass this really tall tree and my eye looks up before I remember. There’s a big blue balloon stuck in the tree. It’s been there for weeks now. I imagined the balloon twirling and floating from place to place, carried with the wind, on a journey to somewhere. Then the fingers of the tree snatch it from the “road” it’s on and keeps it there, locked in place. I guess the balloon could wish for movement and hope again for a jolly ride in the sky, but I also imagine a thoughtful pause as the balloon enjoys a steady gaze, sitting contentedly beside a hawk. What a view they must have up there! The truth is, the balloon was never in control anyway. It was the wind that held the strength and was the master of its fate. Sure, a strong wind might blow and loosen the grip of the tree and the swirling might begin again. But the time is not wasted in the tree, if the balloon relaxes and enjoys the view. It’s in the fretting that loss takes hold, not in the surrender among the trees.