Sail Away, sail away, sail away

My intention is that this will be the last post about my 80th birthday. I've written everything there is to write about it, except for one last happening that has to do with the black balloon with the number 80 on it in the photo below.

We took that balloon with us from Pete and Kim's house and upon returning home tied it to a dinning room chair. Curiously, though it's not round the number seemed to always be facing me whenever I looked at it no matter which direction I approached it from. I almost felt like it was trying to communicate with me; wanted to tell me something. But what? That I'm 80? I know that! I received two t-shirts and birthday cards and emails and phone calls telling me that. I don't know if it was taunting, sympathizing or celebrating with me, but after a couple of days of feeling intimidated by the balloon I decided to get rid of it. It was Maribel who suggested that we do something symbolic with it, as sort of the official ending of what turned out to be my four day birthday celebration. So we took it into the front yard and after a rousing chorus of the birthday song, released it. 

Not having any experience in releasing helium balloons I expected it to rise to a modest height and them drift off with the slight breeze to the south. It didn't. It rose nearly straight up with a slight declination to the south. When it was a mere speck in the sky I thought of the song Orinoco Flow by Enya and the lyrics sail away, sail away, sail away. I wondered how high it was, what the view looked like from there, how long would it stay up, where would it come down...would it come down? Then my thoughts turned philosophical. Here's this black balloon, number 80, sailing off to parts unknown and probably the end of its existence. If it were sentient what would it be thinking? Would it be thinking about the events in its brief life? Would it be fearful of this last journey or would it embrace it? 

Maybe it was thinking of some of the words from Enya's song: 

From the North to the South, Ebudae into Khartoum

From the deep sea of Clouds to the island of the moon

Carry me on the waves to the lands I've never been

Carry me on the waves to the land I've never seen

We can sail, we can sail with the Orinoco Flow

We can sail, we can sail.

And then it was gone.