These balloonists didn't crash land, but we held our breath as they struggled to stay aloft just off my kid-sis's deck in Colorado Springs. Amateurs I guessed , but they managed to gain altitude and floated gracefully away.
Patrice and I had a brief blog exchange about our attempts at poetry and shared that we are both rather unschooledin the art of poetry writing. Minutes later I checked in on The Blog of Henry David Thoreau and found this which made me smile:
Thoreau's Journal: 02-Jan-1859
Essentially your truest poetic sentence is as free and lawless as a lamb’s bleat. The grammarian is often one who can neither cry nor laugh, yet thinks that he can express human emotions. So the posture-masters tell you how you shall walk,—turning your toes out, perhaps, excessively,—but so the beautiful walkers are not made.