When I turned fifty I celebrated with a flight in a hot air balloon.
Standing in that small basket, the intermittent roar and heat of a burner over my head, peering over the edge of the woven cane, entranced by the red earth of the Atlas mountains receding beneath my feet, was the strangest feeling.
Standing still as the world fell silently and effortlessly away below me.
That day changed my relationship with the planet.
Somehow, since then, I can be amazed by how still I can stand as the Earth spins and hurls through the seemingly almost empty solar system.
I remember that now as I squint out of the window of a plane to see only intense, bright, white light, which almost imperceptibly begins to sink away beneath me, revealing a blue sky above which deepens as it soars towards the heavens.
How do I feel so still, so whole, when below me is only white cloud which swirls, and thins, and disappears, revealing glimpses of the spinning Earth, and above me just the vast, deep, yet mostly empty sky?
Heroes Not Zombies 