Three hot-air balloons are going up. It’s a fairly common sight in Newberg. Imagining myself in one of those baskets, I see the sun coming up on the horizon and the land that it lights up. I look in the opposite direction for the moon, but either it’s behind a cloud or it has just recently slipped below the western horizon. The cold air coming through my nose sharpens my mind and all my senses.

It’s only a fleeting thought for those of us still on the ground.