On an extra humid Sunday evening, I found myself shepherding a bunch of balloons through the Botanic Gardens, trying to find my picnicking friends.
It was a birthday celebration for K and S, but really, I didn't need an excuse to buy balloons.
There was way too much food, including a whole suckling pig (harking back to a recent wedding and another birthday feast a year ago), but all I shot were the plastic wine glasses.
Who doesn't love balloons? Nope, not young chewren and not me.
I like that you know that your enjoyment of balloons is finite. At best, they deflate. Sometimes, they burst. Or perhaps, they just fly away.
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