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"Don't bother, they're here."

I love old songs.

Ever wonder where those balloons of celebration wind up after being released into the endless smile of an English sky?


balloon pink1

balloon pink2


balloon hiding

balloon blue

balloon brave black

balloon bright

Back in 2016 I wrote a walking poem, titled "Everyday Prayers":


Up from a brightly lit party a balloon of celebration soars
Into a night of smiling gods
And lands here
In this field

There are no cattle
And over the weeks it disappears