Spring Is A Lovely Time For Flight

As you may have noticed, I am finding Beltane and Springtime inspiration in many places. Some are quite obvious and others, like this particular one, are a bit more obscure. But the occurrence, which I will outline below, sent me on a new quest. A quest for poems on ballooning. I found several worthy candidates, but the e.e. cummings piece that was ultimately selected hit the sweet spot, as it were.

Several nights ago now (and I do apologize for my lack of content at this site of late) I was working on Taigh Róis connecting it to my keep when I heard the familiar whooshing sound of a hot air balloon. Looking over at my mini map I saw at least two green dots headed my way. Stepping out onto my newly created walkway and peering past my new colony of bats (thanks to Lady Kate Nicholas for helping me create the walkway and also for pointing me in the direction of the bat dealership) I saw a large green balloon heading my way.

Imagine the pleasant surprise when I noticed that it was Subedar Singh flying along with Colonel O'Toole. I had not seen Mr. Singh in several months around Caledon (or anywhere on my friends list at all). They both waved a hearty hello to me and I climbed up to the battlements of the keep where I could converse with them more easily. After chatting for a little while and catching up with Mr. Singh - learning of his real life adventures as a father of four energetic children and his ongoing work at his university - the gentlemen wondered if I would care to join them for trip across Caledon. Having lost my appetite for construction, I decided that I would tag along for at least part of the trip.

We set out from the Loch and traveled briefly over into Lovelace, where we found Her Grace Primverness hard at work on her skyplat. We chatted briefly with her, but decided not to disturb her overmuch. Waving a cheerful farewell, we headed north once again.

We crossed uneventfully into and through Victoria City, through Carntaigh, and generally northward until we reached Penzance.


We got caught on the sim border for a little while, and after we escaped her clutches, I needed to turn in for the night.





I bid my tour-guides adieu and headed back to Loch Avie tossing over my shoulder as I went, "Hotspur! Make sure your friend does not stay away from us so long next time!"

Who Knows if the Moon's A Balloon

who knows if the moon’s
a balloon, coming out of a keen city
in the sky–filled with pretty people?
and if you and I should

get into it, if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited, where

always
it’s Spring and everyone’s
in love
and flowers pick themselves