we were there for the olympics.  runners going through neighborhoods, homes, looking for a certain kind of cookie.  before we leave this foreign place, brett and i take a hot air balloon ride with another couple.  it is near sunset, the greens of the rolling hills turning deep like forests.  the blues and whites of mountains in the distance.  the view is breathtaking and moving in fast are storm clouds.  a massive dark front blanketing the sky.  we have to land sooner than anticipated to avoid the storm but as we are lowering, we suddenly drop right into a storm cloud.  it is scarily beautiful inside.  veins of light showing through, electric webs of current all around.  the basket is tossed and tumbled.  i fall out but manage to hold on to the edge.  i hanger there from my own finite strength until i realize my feet are touching the ground and i let go.  in a panic, i call for brett. is he there? oh god, was he able to hang on?  please i hope he is ok.  i should his name and he answers from within the basket, leaning against the inside corner, elbows on the edges of the basket.  completely at ease and drinking a glass of red wine.
i wonder how it didn’t spill.