Like a kitten in a basket I could see over the woven wicker edge. A
thousand feet below us the sun-flooded valley lay open, green, and a fuzz
of lavender-gray marked where the creek ran for its lilacs had begun to
blossom. Clusters of dark oaks were like bouquets for us.
The hills rippled with light and, toward the sea, the low coast mountains,
scarcely more than hills themselves, were rumpled and offered a wedge
of water in the distance. The air had the freshness of the sea held
within it, up here.
Cesca's warm brown eyes, so dark, so rich, exciting with their unique inherent possibilities and their messages, were upon me. Her lips were moving in her smile while trying not to smile too much as she enjoyed me.
I had been afraid the first time. Seriously afraid. But I had come up in the balloon for two reasons. One, I thought I really had nothing to lose and what a grand exit it would make. As thoroughly thrilling, I was certain, as my birth. But that I could not remember. Two, I trusted Cesca with my life, and if she would take it, if she required it or if by mistake it should be broken, then....
I set my head back with a tiny crunch of accommodating wicker and gazed
upward. All that I could see was scintillating cerulean blue and the gold
and scarlet pattern of the balloon. "I think," I began, "I'm thinking....."
"Yes?"
"That this is not enough for me."
"I know."
"I must do something more. Something I think is significant."
"To make a difference."